Edict of the Magazine La Literatura del Arte, from Colombia: Cuban poem awarded on the abyss (+ Photos)

By Lázaro David Najarro Pujol

July, 2021.- The work On the abyss of the writer, poet and essayist Rainer Castellá Martínez (Santa Clara, Cuba), is among the winners of the 10th virtual edition of 2021 of Edicto Revista La Literatura del Arte, from Colombia, convened for authors from Latin America.

In an interview with Castellá, via online, he expressed that Abismo is part of the poem book of the same name. He also added that the text rescues, “from the postmodern, the creationist elements of the avant-garde, the postulates of surrealism”. He abounded that “it also rests on the power of the image above the discursive concept, although without renouncing it”.

The writer, poet and essayist Rainer Castellá stated that Edicto Revista La Literatura del Arte has a “precious component from the aesthetic point of view for the selection of the works that he publishes. Hence my commitment to the contest”.

Rainer Castellá Martínez

Rainer Castellá Martínez

He specified that the selected works go to the second creative management, which is the recognition of the award-winning artists, and then in the third creative management they will go to the magazine edition, “where the respective style correction will be made, as in the great most of the editorial work that we plan to carry out during this second semester of 2021”.

The number ten of the magazine will be published in August on its various websites from where it is published, in virtual format. Likewise, it reserves the right of a possible printed publication, organized with the artists who were chosen.



I see the lines that intersect and divide the threshold.

Cracks in time seem like a matter from another space

that place that my wings long for

without my feet shedding their miseries from the dust

the portion of them falters in that inherence of rabid cues

the eyelids tremble at the sublime vision of the light.

Their sparkles claim!

How could I not !?

I think of so many foolish things that the trap erects the guard

incredulous of his holy vehemence

and puts me right above the abyss.

The feeling is no worse than the condemnation of this absurd reality.

What can I say about myself at the end of existence?

Language is not a meager seed,

nor woo the nothing or like hooks

he adds to the routine.

Do not!

No way!

Language designs that alien and singular space

for those who mourn the speech

that the poet assigns to his memorable surroundings.

Yes! , the poet is a gentleman

that he retraces with his groomed beard, hat and crook

the places of useless reflections.

The usefulness consists in the flimsy transparency of it.

I limit myself to the shelter of his noble deities.

What could I build from the virtue of my entrails!

I assume the descent as if uneasiness did not matter.

Death of the neighbor

germ of a worse misery.

Does the threshold weave this perpetual emptiness

Where have I stopped seeing the intersecting and dividing lines?


Scream of horror.

My throat breaks in funereal indulgence

of the hand that reaches out and smiles at me

as if making a pact with the trail of the infertile footprint.

Throw the corpse into the naive offering of that nothingness.

Over the abyss he waits.


I see alleys that are clothed with the dust attached to my footprints.

That man who never pretended to be a man

transform into a blade scrutinized by the wind.

I see the silence. I can see it!

Fill with screams that knot hopes.

The death of my father in the faithful flock of his agony.

The eternal misery of those who claim

the dog’s feast

under the cornices

surrendered to the curtain of the city

like a tomb.

I watch time go by and stop

the shadow of my shadow scattered in the void

the longing for the flesh woven in memory

like an offering that shakes my guts.

I see the docile armistice of my bones pretending

the credible wheezing of their trifles

fidget at the school blackboard

and believe us a sinful rain of hope.

I see trails without a trace!

The prayer of the unfortunate

that blesses a foreign Christ

incenses, candles and chants

smiles, seductive hugs of cynicism.

I see hands devoid of dagger

and daggers surrendered to the absence of hands

clouds that sting the sky

lugubrious delirium that arouses in chance

like a scandal of light that is abandoned.

I see in his eyes the desire not to see!

And on my shoulders the fatal breath of silence.

My memories are not a trace of this time

but of the most adverse

enervate in court

or at dawn

and insomnia charges me.

I do not want to see!

I give up putting my memories on paper that will be ignored

like all that truth that we have decided to see with different eyes.

The rest, where is he hiding ?!

I see millions of sheep digging in the pit.

Over the abyss I suffer condemnation

to see what will never be possible from my memory.


Her mask pours into the abyss.

Livid filament shaves the warmth of dust

I discover a foreign body

blood flows in my veins

like a coriander of stones

that seduces the rapture

while I descend I am an abyss,

and the mask


I am not surprised by more than its emptiness.

Where to find it !?

Fatal would be the blind of her.

No face hurts as much as mine.


I sit in the grave.

And maybe my legs levitate.

I never give importance to the body.

I assume in their organs the animal trace that punishes us.

I demand from the offering of my dead his lofty song.

I am able to be content in defeat.

I look for that litter that my mother placed in my head

with the first breath.

She penetrates like the daughter of the night.

Seductress of the angels that protect me.

Destined for the cross that emerges in the fountain

I keep the anguish from my dry lips.

I long for the voice in the depths of the tomb.

And it is then that my body claims it.

I ignore their strength.

Cruelty tends to humanize us.

There is shelter in memory.

The Scream

it is thrown into the bottom of the abyss.

The author commented that Sobre el abismo is a collection of poems that, from its aesthetic components, gathers the tradition of the creationist current of the Chilean poet and father of Creationism Vicente Huidobro and addresses the perception, usually contradictory and dark, on the basis of a conversational tone.

It is a pessimistic collection of poems from the conceptual point of view, loaded with symbolisms that rely on the image to represent what is incomprehensible to the poet. It adheres to the current of dark and cursed poetry written by authors of the French literary avant-garde and known on our continent by the poet Alejandra Pizarnik. (Photos: Courtesy of the artist) (Translated by Linet Acuña Quilez)

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