Today I called the poet Sergio De Matteo from La Pampa. His voice was sad, he looked off.
"We were the Master," was the first thing I said, and that bucket of cold water is still wet.
few weeks ago, we spent a program Milling. There, he could hear his poems intoned in his voice, and it was a good excuse to recall the visit to poets from different parts of the country did their little house in Santa Rosa (provided through the efforts of Sergio, also author of foreword to the book Bustriazo that we released in suri stubborn). Today we
was, perhaps pneumonia, perhaps tired of the years, depletion of misunderstanding and neglect. As Olga Orozco, Joaquin Francisco Madariaga or Gianuzzi, Juan Carlos Bustriazo Ortiz is another great Argentine poets who manage to leave us more alone with his death.
from me, as I wrote once, I can only thank him for his return to singing, the glare of the letrumbre , which will continue to shine despite the neglect.
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