Readers will not be inclined towards clarity. The author’s dispute with his poetic voice will lead to the loss of some meaning and, then, the contradiction will come, the opening towards the whole, the search as a character in the closing of the poem. After “I”, the truth. After me, the world. Because, as Jotaele suggests, perhaps something of the lyric, something of the most intimate, is in others as selves. In this regard, Vázquez states: “Nebulous triad of the self/ that hides a truth.”
Mario Montalbetti in rehearsal Ours is a visual age states that the distance between signifier and signified is increasingly smaller. And yet, the meaning is only constructed in the temporal distance with respect to its signifier, which leads to the conclusion that the evil of our time is the reduction to zero of the distance between the signifier and the signified. The consequence of this is that artistic consumption is increasingly lighter, with preformatted recipes of senses. Vázquez undertakes the feat of recovering the time that is constituent in the configuration of meaning:
If the letters sink into me
they don’t play anymore
the poems are born drowned.
In that sense, it is necessary to highlight that the author’s poetry will not be given to the service of digital marketing. It is not an easily accessible book, not because it has the pretension of hermeticism or grandiloquence, but because it returns to the resources of poetry, even, in some passages, rhyme returns. The author returns to poetry in a world in which poetry, more and more, begins to fall in love with capitalism (although the love is not reciprocal).
In the poem “The Game” a kind of poetic ars appears, poetry as a search that is not resolved with the appearance of the poem. Marcela Fumale, in the prologue, refers to this attitude: “Matías, who seems to write from the depths of the uneasiness of existence, with his back to the game of being, losing everything he should find before beginning to explore the labyrinth.” ; He includes us in that, his, world in a complicit way. And it allows us to feel the suffocation, and the relief, through all the senses.”
Vázquez builds a universe from small things such as, for example, the plastic cat, the cigarette, the moisture stains. However, if we take for example the poem “Cat of Fortune”, whose central axis is the present tense analyzed in duet with the plastic cat of Eastern culture, we can think that the words and themes are always an excuse, or They should be, to break the mold of convention. In the search for meaning there will always be room for souls who can break things with words:
Who distributes the fortune? I mean,
how many more cats call that one
single fortune?
My cat gets impatient and tells me
that our fortune today
It is less than yesterday.
