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Hernandiana 30/10/1910 - 3:56 - The Courier 
PEDRO ANTONIO CURTO prison after the Civil War, which entered as the beginning of his journey prison. But unlike the Czech writer, Michael was soon need to start from that place. Perhaps because the country last and deepest of a poet is his poetry, and the sound of these crashed into the mountain behind his house, turned on the border that prevented a farm boy to be a poet, his work was heard beyond Oleza limits of Miró. Soon, since I knew the magic of words, heard the music of the inner ear, which he said life had been marked to be a poet. So in 1937 commented: "Poetry is in me a need and I write because I find no remedy for not writing. I felt as I felt my manhood, and as a man involved, trying to dignify every step through their hammers. "
If Miguel Hernández could see the current Orihuela perhaps be closer to the city that he cursed, who longed village. Although the poet's village was not what everyone saw, but another, an intimate space, where he said: "Making the gardener, / flee the comfort of irrigation / I stay in my garden." But it did not because I needed to grow a limited work across borders to be put, to exceed himself, starting with an unprecedented effort staff, the narrow margins of Orihuela. So I needed of that cursed city. The land of the poet is made in a territory from imaginary to real though, is a photograph that takes on a new dimension after passing through the eyes of the artist. It's something I came up with the arid geography of Castile, after reading the verses of Antonio Machado, acquired a new dimension. Is the ability of some authors who manage to create with your vision a microscopic insight, that through his words, we are able to take a physical space, its normal.
why walk down the street Up orioliana (renamed Calle Miguel Hernandez) next to the mountains, its low houses, hearing the sound of animals, one remembers his lines: "High'm looking at the palm trees, / rude to live with the mountains." For Orihuela has been urbanized, but as a gift to his poet, that corner has remained with a rural spirit, with that calm, where time seems to stop and rest in eternity. And in that eternity, as are his poems, his work increasingly taking on new dimensions, also face new dangers. For although the work has gained recognition he would hardly have been imagined in the beginning, their disappointments in Madrid or in the dark prison time, a recognition positive because his work extends, there are shadows. I think that the verses do not sit with statues, cool, I tear strength, make them point blank. So perhaps it is necessary to approach the Miguel Hernández fiercely imperfect human love to the suffering and the body as a live claim, the woman who sought and dazzled him like lightning. There were already wielding steel knife, death and blood, sharing space with light and clarity of Levante. The man who left the temples to fight in the trenches, which led to some doubt: "What I want light / if I stumble into darkness?" And in his prison term, the poet manages to perfect what is a feature Hernandiana's work: the duality established between man beaten, killed by the adversities of life and the drive to find hope. Besides getting a communion with him who is able to reach his verses, being an intimate poetry, philosophy, educated, committed, popular, a synthesis that becomes actual when its creator is a hundred years.
"Who lies in the tomb of a poet?" Asks the writer Cees Noteboom. Something strange when you approach an author who had death as part of its vital geography. Miguel Hernandez's grave is in the cemetery of Alicante, the circle expands, but only sixty kilometers of its people. It is his second home mortuary after traveling from the prison in Alicante, to the niche where he stayed for decades. Had to wait until the fall of the dictatorship to take a tablet on the ground, he shares with his wife and son. Something I think he would like because both were part of his work. In his later poems, where it reached the best heights of poetry, Miguel sought transcendence through love and the fruit of it, was hoping he would not accept defeat. "In the distance you, more alone / that death, the one and me." Because the work Hernandiana traveled with mysticism by his side, Catholic and naturalist first sexual and loving then later revolutionary, intimate, hurt in his last verse, rebellious and always humanistic.
It is no wonder that is installed next to his grave a mailbox where you can write imaginatively, remembering his lines: "Even under the earth / my body is loving / write to the land / I'll write" as Noteboom said: "Why do we visited the grave of someone you have not met at all? Because even tells us something, something that continues to echo in our ears, we have retained and even we have not forgotten ...». Because the tomb of the poet is non-grave, and always will be his verses, to deliver a mortal body of death love.
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