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FABIÁN CASAS (Buenos Aires, 1965)

In the poetry of Fabián Casas (Buenos Aires, 1965) there is an essential loneliness. His verses are spoken from memory, the memory of home, the memory of a lost mother «across the field with her red robe», the memory of the streets and its «domesticated trees».
His work attests to his fear of the world; a fear born of wisdom and self-recognition. I walk slowly to the bathroom; / I know that misfortune is upon us, / not now, not the next year, / we are still young, but that / is lost right away. / We have nothing, I think, / while I wash my face, / not a profession, or an inheritance, / not a house of solid stone.
Fabian gives almost transparent words, without craft or patches. It is a chronicle of life that does not allow false beauties and is shown in the simplest ways. The key, doors, mirrors, rain, sea, train, refrigerator, are enough to let us see beyond.
From the window out the limits of my language / created a world / that does not concern me / the wet pavement/ reflected the lights of cars: / Red, green and yellow moving.
He also employs the use of irony, which sometimes ends up being disguised despair. In his poetic discourse, he makes the word a way to alleviate loneliness and grant it some dignity. Fabian Casas is one of the greatest poets of his country. His aesthetics renewed the Argentinian poetry in the 90s of the last century and still echoes in the area of Latin America.
His texts are deeply philosophical, they do not aspire to be grandiloquent or transcendentalist, let alone to have any type of heroism. But there is resistance in them: the desire to tell what has been seen or experienced after returning from a long journey, with the marks of having survived.