Antonio Agudelo

ERuiseñor de  Keats

Antonio Agudelo

(Villaviciosa, Córdoba, 1968) is a poet, anthologist, essayist and literary researcher. He studied at the Universidad Laboral de Córdoba. Each new book by this unclassifiable poet who exercises poetry like a priesthood, retired in the solitude of the woods, is an event. In his work, the following stand out: “El Sueño de Ibiza”, (1st and 2nd edition of the Provincial Council of Córdoba, 2008 and 2011), (3rd Edition 2012, Depapel Editions); the anthology “Paisajes Corchúos”, (2009, Córdoba Provincial Council); “Madreagua”, (2012, Ediciones Depapel); "The Thermal Power Plant. Haikús ”, (2012, Ediciones Depapel); "The Liquid World", (2014, Editorial Celya), which traveled to the Washington Library of Congress, "El Cielo Ajedrez (2016, Editorial El Sastre de Apollinaire);" The Athlete of the Abyss ", (2018, Editorial Catorcebis) ; "The gold of lightning where the universe fits", (2019, Editorial Elvo); and "Sky Chess", translated by Professor Claudia Routon (2020, 2nd Edition, Editorial Dialogues, USA)

Agudelo has been translated into English by Claudia Routon and into Portuguese by Aurora Cuevas Cerveró. He regularly participates in the Cycles "Literary Citation", of the Provincial Council of Córdoba, and "Capital Letters", of the Andalusian Center of Letters, and in the programs of the Community of Artists "Debajo del Sombrero, Punto y Seguido", of Radio Miami (USA).

He has won the Third Prize of the Temirqazyq International Contest in 2019, organized by the World Nations Writers Union, with which the best poets and writers in the Spanish language are awarded. He has been a jury for the prestigious Acordes and Vicente Núñez poetry awards. It has been included in the Anthologies: "En pie de paz" (Javier Fernández, Plurabelle, Córdoba, 2003; "La Luna en Verso" (Francisco Acuyo, Granada, 2013); "Mapuche", "Zenobia Camprubí and Juan Ramón Jiménez" (Basque Country, 2014); "Quejío", (Córdoba with Woman's Cry 2015); Poetry in the Winery (Antonio Flores, Ateneo de Córdoba, 2017); and "Verses to dance or not" (Javier Irigaray, ed. Almuzara , Almería, 2019) He has participated in the cultural magazines: "Noche Laberinto" (Colombia), "Desván" (Madrid), "Platypus Soup", "Suspiro de Artemisa" (Córdoba), "The flight of flamenco" ( Cartagena), "On the green shore" (Malaga) etc. He has participated in the International Festival "Cosmopoetics, Poets of the World in Córdoba (2011 and 20012)"; in "La Noche en Blanco de Granada (2013)"; in the III International Meeting of Poetry City of Úbeda (Jaén, 2016); and in the VIII Meeting of Mystical Poetry in the San Miguel de Escalada Monastery (León, 2017). He is currently collaborating in the International Magazine of C ultura Visit Me Magazine from New York (USA) USA)

(Various Authors)

Faint, dare, be furious,
rough, tender, liberal, elusive,

encouraged, deadly, deceased, alive,

loyal, traitorous, cowardly and courageous;

not find outside the good center and rest,

be happy, sad, humble, haughty,

angry, brave, fugitive,

satisfied, offended, suspicious;

flee the face to the clear disappointment,

drink poison for soft liquor,

forget the profit, love the damage;

believe that a heaven fits into a hell,

give life and soul to disappointment:

This is love, whoever tasted it knows it.

Author: Lope de Vega

Photo: Einstein and his daughter Lieserl


At the end of the 1980s, Lieserl, the daughter of the famous genius, donated 1,400 letters written by Einstein to the Hebrew University, with the order not to make their content public until two decades after his death. This is one of them, to Lieserl Einstein:

"When I proposed the theory of relativity, very few understood me, and what I will reveal to you now to transmit to humanity will also collide with the misunderstanding and the prejudices of the world.

Even so, I ask you to guard it as long as necessary, years, decades, until society has advanced enough to accept what I explain below.

There is an extremely powerful force for which science has so far not found a formal explanation. It is a force that includes and governs all the others, and that is even behind any phenomenon that operates in the universe and has not yet been identified by us. This universal force is LOVE.

When scientists searched for a unified theory of the universe, they forgot the most invisible and powerful of forces.

Love is Light, since it illuminates whoever gives it and receives it. Love is gravity, because it makes some people feel attracted to others. Love is power, because it multiplies the best we have, and allows humanity not to be extinguished in its blind selfishness. Love reveals and reveals.

For love you live and die. Love is God, and God is Love. This force explains everything and gives meaning in capital letters to life. This is the variable that we have ignored for too long, perhaps because love scares us, since it is the only energy in the universe that human beings have not learned to handle at will.

To give love visibility, I have made a simple substitution in my most famous equation. If instead of E = mc2 we accept that the energy to heal the world can be obtained through love multiplied by the speed of light squared, we will conclude that love is the most powerful force that exists, because it does not have limits.

After the failure of humanity in the use and control of the other forces of the universe, which have turned against us, it is urgent that we feed on another kind of energy. If we want our species to survive, if we propose to find meaning in life, if we want to save the world and every sentient being that inhabits it, love is the only and the last answer.

Perhaps we are not yet ready to build a love bomb, a device powerful enough to destroy all the hatred, selfishness and greed that plague the planet. However, each individual carries within them a small but powerful generator of love whose energy is waiting to be released.

When we learn to give and receive this universal energy, dear Lieserl, we will see that love conquers everything, transcends everything and can do everything, because love is the quintessence of life.

I deeply regret not having been able to express what my heart houses, which has silently beat for you all my life. It may be too late to apologize, but since time is relative, I need to tell you that I love you and that thanks to you I have reached the last answer! "

Your father: Albert Einstein

It's burning ice, it's frozen fire

it is a wound that hurts and cannot be felt,

it is a dreamed good, a bad present,

it's a very tiring short break.

It is an oversight that gives us care,

a coward with a brave name,

a lonely walk among the people,

a love only to be loved.

It's an imprisoned freedom

that lasts until the last paroxysm; disease that grows if it is cured.

This is the Love child, this is his abyss. See what friendship the one who is contrary to himself will have with nothing!

Author: Francisco de Quevedo


Love, how many roads, until a kiss arrives,
what a wandering loneliness even your company!
The trains still railing with the rain.
Spring has not yet dawned in Taltal.

But you and I, my love, we are together
together from clothes to roots,
together of autumn, of water, of hips,
until it's just you, just me together.

To think that it cost so many stones that the river carries,
the mouth of the Boroa water,
think that separated by trains and nations

You and I had to just love each other
with everyone confused, with men and women,
with the land that plants and educates the carnations.

Author: Pablo Neruda


You will never understand what I love you
because you sleep in me and you are asleep.
I hide you crying, persecuted

by a voice of piercing steel.

Norm that stirs equal meat and star
already pierces my aching chest
and the murky words have bitten
the wings of your severe spirit.

Group of people jump in the gardens
waiting for your body and my agony
in horses of light and green manes.

But keep sleeping, my dear.
Hear my broken blood in the violins.
Look, they still stalk us!

Author: Federico García Lorca


Since I've known you, I have taken death into account.
But what I feel is nothing like
to common sadness. Rather it is certainty
of all my days in this
world where I have been able to meet you.
Suddenly I have all the impatience of all
those who loved and love, the incomprehensible urgency
of lovers. I don't want geography
but love, is the only thing my heart knows.
This excess of life does not fit in my life.
Better, if I told you that I meditate on things
(borders and distances) in proper terms
Of the resurrection, when will we rise
on the coordinates of time and space,
regardless of the sea that separates us.
I dream of the perfect hug moment
without haste, of the kisses that were left without giving.
I dream that your body lives next to my body
and I wait for the morning when there will be no limits.

Author: Juan Antonio González Iglesias


The naked girl sunbathes
barely covered
by the presence of the fronds.

Open your body to the sun
that in rain of fire
fills it with light.

Between her closed eyes
eternity becomes an instant of gold.
The light was born so that the glow of this body

give it life.
One more day
the earth survives thanks to it

that without knowing
is the sun
amid the murmur of the fronds.

Author: José Emilio Pacheco


Between the night was the honeysuckle like music
and the dream in our eyelids bees that extracted
of the rainy harps of autumn
a honeycomb of violets and silence.
With a chill the fugitive love was then foreseen
like a troubadour, beautiful with bows and ribbons,
that, next to an arbor where a torch lights up,
down the ladder of the fainted body of the infanta
while the nightingale perfumes the night with harmony among the foliage.
A vague sigh of abandoned veils wandered on the battlements,
of languid hair floating in the ponds
and a mullion was left alone in front of the moon
numbed by the lute of kisses.
I relive the pale gaze of the mirrors
and my face asking in his oracle,
and the hand that went over, slowly, my cheeks, my lips.
There was a window where the sea turned its swans into foams,
and on the sideboards trays with cooked quinces
and the jar of cherries,
and the citrons cold from the marble of the dawn,
and the piñonate sweets in their curly paper star.
Sunday it climbed with its yellow light,
with his vine beating with golden cymbals,
the gloomy poplars of winter,
and the hours, swift, waved their petals
like a rosebush that leaves its snow in the air.
And the night came to the field resting its head on the mountains,
and a soft fear descended with the barking of dogs through the glens,
and the last heron of the afternoon slept among the reeds.
Tell me where I have that child with the neck tied with scarves
And the huge black fever fly flapping at my temples
and around my bed, Sandokan with the red pearl in his turban
and Aramis perfumed with episcopal anointing,
and Robinson under the green swaying parrot of bamboos.
That closed viewpoint, between mourning,
where the Garden Prayer stopped every year
when on Holy Thursday he moaned in his long purple trumpet.
And the Sleeping Virgin, in an August of flares,
and the dead contemplating from their balustrade of absences
the faint night lamps of All Saints' Night.
It was raining on the windows. Now, silent, sad profiles return,
voices that pale are reborn,
like leaves dragged into an autumn of oblivion.
And like the blissfully tired swimmer,
he lets his fingers run from the water over his naked body
turning his gaze towards the beach,
so I turn to you,
I looked for your smile in my smile,
you look in my eyes
and your deep pure voice, old boy,
flowing like very cool water
from the blinded spring of days.

Author: Pablo García Baena

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Antonio Agudelo

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