José Jiménez Lozano says, citing Christian B., that literature is often a chicken coop. "It's always a chicken noise you hear when you open a book, but I saw one day that there were also birds of paradise singing in a unique way ... I searched my soul, that is the light that everyone should take before die. Most aspire to glory, but when you have seen another light, we see that the first is nothing .... "
César Martín Ortiz belonged to the kind exquisitely and rare birds of paradise. Did not reside here, but here was and here has left many fans of his work and friends of the soul perplexed and stunned by his early death at age 52.
Professor of Literature, had been assigned to Jaraíz de la Vera in Caceres, but their human and academic training were Salamanca, promotion of Hispanic of 81. His family also contributed to this city a whole race of scholars as his own mother, Adela Ortiz, who encouraged him in his love letters.
was always brilliant, creative in all, I remember our conversations around the coffee Novelty to what we understood was the literature of truth. At that time admired and critiqued Anibal Núñez and commercialism that stifles and blurs all true creation. She was devoted in body and soul all his short life, he would not leave his place Extremadura and there autoexilidado, loved, suffered and wrote, he also taught a few students that literature is not true with that dazzling. It was a charming three basic weapons: intelligence, sensitivity and an unforgettable personality. Perhaps it was a modern romantic or contemporary mystic relentless in its lucidity, as was also relentless in his ethical convictions.
lived a writer because he was born for this, he said that "writing is an activity prior to the drafting of documents, is fatally tied to the character and exercise, in many forms, from earliest infancy." His public recognition began with an excellent book of poetry that won the Eleanor 1989: Dedication or farewell , part of the jury Claudio Rodríguez. Accounts in the adjusted critical emotional experiences that shaped his life. A Dedication owns this poem was included in the anthology Passphrases (poets in Salamanca 1976-2001) José Luis Puerto . It expresses its deep contempt Philistine materialism, vanity, "renounces the pending such undeserved / and refuse the bad taste of win / loss random betting yourself you're the worst of your horses / betting to lose life / and if you win / bankruptcy your own sword / and let others to split the win / because there are lies and are not for you / truths that have never been to anyone. "
Touches Transit continued , Ski Award honorable mention in the jury F. Brines, J. Iron: Again existential evil that comes from the disagreement between ideals and reality sad: "I can not pick up your compassion / his cynical respect to this disease / injury which are not displayed / that has no name, but it exists. "
a poet is not soft but steely in its lucidity, skeptical and disappointed" to treatment just got your disgust / that produced by cruel beasts. "
A misanthrope? No, a being who demanded nobility and others offered, and had great friends who got unconditional love that is so difficult because we improved on the inside, gave us ideas, feelings and new visions of the meaning of life. Applied the cold scalpel of reason to any life experience and returned to us transformed into new form of reality. He was a surgeon of feelings. His hyperconscious caused him deep sorrow, for he had only an antidote: irrevocable spaces of solitude. In the background, was a lover of life, so loved best: "I looked at all the usual things with reverence for its beauty, to the surprise of not seeing them as never were meaningful, necessary ...." These new insights provided him with ineffable moments: "... I thought I had died and was happy." Are not these texts inaugurated a new mysticism?
His work is also imbued with sensuality: Love and theories dealing an important place. In a splendid collection of stories entitled Some order says: "I thought that love is not an act so involuntary or as undeserved as the romance or remains would have us believe. I thought it also requires faith and courage "and his story Daniel :" The love do not come in life but leaving the reserves of the soul and these are exhausted. A love is not an acquisition, a gift or a lottery, but the exercise of a capacity. "
In fact, Caesar never complied with any bad love or love faker, was brave and found it really the end of his life, Bego. Also known prepare to die cultivating a spirituality that was incorruptible and accomplice witness the beautiful scenery of the Vera. As a good romantic nature helped him find himself, to could you be, to express themselves. I had read very well the philosopher Emerson recommended by your soul mate, his brother Javier, "My house is behind the mountains / desert in the foothills overlooking the North / burned by the wind."
"The type of wind "We've called after his death, a terrible gale that sweeps us superfluous and brings out the soul.
himself heralded his departure from this world would be in winter. And white Snow always contain his presence: "The wind brought some white flakes / and other places / as if it were not for / to fall here. / Witness another winter winter / more collected and white / winter is not of us. "
And now that winter has gone to invisible, while their words fly, and given away as an inheritance. Has left several unpublished works, including three novels. Someone to collect and publish, because we need them. It is the duty of humanity, all who love the true words.
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