Contemporary poetry Vol. III
The space in which we stop the ball (what a metaphor, huh?) and poetically analyze the lyrics of the canticles of our stadiums.
Dear poetry lovers, followers of Ser Argentino, football fans: I have some good news. In this emotional act, I present the third volume of Contemporary Poetry, the space in which we dedicate ourselves to stop the ball (what use of metaphors, huh?) and poetically analyze the lyrics of the songs of our stadiums. In this case, although I know that some will get angry, I bring a song from one of the paintings I like the worst: Vélez Sarsfield. Luckily there won't be many who get angry, because all the people of Velez fit in an elevator. Anyway. Let's get started. It goes like this: 100 years of madness, to always follow you everywhere. 100 years of madness is a lot. Nietzsche couldn't stand 15. It must be inhuman torture. Well, watching any game of Velez is. I don't even want to think about it. Each one chooses how he wants to flagellate himself. You are a feeling, a love that I cannot explain. While it is well known, not that the moles of the inexplicability of love loses its power. If there is one thing that cannot be explained, it is love. In fact, we tend to fall in love with people who don't suit us, who hurt us, who don't return us with the same coin. Fans of Velez: I understand them. They fell in love with that horrible painting. There are worse things. Or not, I don't know. The day I die, fortinero you are going to listen to me, because you are my life and from heaven I'm going to encourage you. This is another common place in Argentine football poetry and I think it's an excellent moment to analyze it. I understand perfectly the idea of such a deep love that even the concept of death can't make a dent in it. Good. I buy. Now, how are you so sure that you're going to heaven? What if there's nothing? What if after the light at the end of the tunnel we're finally left with the emptiness that nihilists proclaim so much? Besides, assuming you do go to heaven, don't you have anything better to do? Wouldn't you rather talk to Mandela? I think that the fourth song comes from St. Peter and he applies the right of admission and you go to sing to hell. I don't think so. We already won the Copa Libertadores, ooh, we leave life for these colors, ooh, First verse: an indisputable reality. Well thought out, well resolved. Short and at the foot. Second verse: the line of opinionable is already opened. I would advise you, boys (and girls, why not), not to give up life for the colours. If you are from Velez, moreover, I advise you not to leave even one big mozzarella for the colors. But there you are. We are in a free country. The Gang is cheering on the boards, to make us champions again, ooh. Here I no longer know if there is an anachronism well worked or if it is lack of ingenuity to aggiornarse. Amalfitani has not had boards for several decades. One of two: either that is the explanation for the lack of breath of Liniers' people (have they been bewildered by the lack of wood in the stands?) or they stopped working on the poetics of the songs. Whatever the explanation, a despicable attitude. Although journalism has not accepted it, ooh, we are great has already been proven, ooh. Well, anyone who takes a stand against sports journalism, a priori, has my go-ahead. But the fact that they have proved to be great is something else. In fact, just as Borges said that in the Koran there are no camels because the indisputable truths do not need to be defended, the mere fact that they sing that "it was proven that they are great," in reality what he says is that it was not proven at all. You don't want this verse, boys. Well, what they don't want is to be from Vélez. The centenary of the blue V has arrived, this whole gang out of control, he's partying, it doesn't matter. The first verse, beautiful. It seems to be by Rubén Darío. A little anachronistic the use of "centenario" and "azulada" in a 21st century song, but it's a good way to rhyme with "descontrolada" and "nada". Although in the third repetition there is a little cacophony, I would change the "out of control", perhaps, to continue in the tone, for a "reloca", but well, I'm not who. Last comment for the "nothing matters": following Bajtín and his idea of carnestolenda, in which carnivals are a moment of the year in which hierarchies are abolished and the king is on an equal footing with the beggar for a few hours, I understand the satisfaction that can mean that nothing has value, because what is eliminated is the responsibility involved in the hierarchy. In this case I bank it more than ever, because to be a fan of Velez you don't have to care about anything. At the very least, you have to forget about well-played football, epics and history. That's no small thing.