Can You Get High Off Skelaxin?

LEONOR Book

I had the honor of presenting the book Leonor Buffo, a young poet disappeared 68 years ago. Poet with my name and I cite in my book, THE HOUSE OF LOVE AND DEATH, which appeared at this house, home, nestled between the mountains, Cabana, beautiful scenery of the Sierras de Córdoba and say
Everything
enmadejado and tied with a thousand threads of love. Leonor
Buffo

Bite silent spaces
words and she ignores him.
The pendulum has turned on its name and each letter naked
the echo that sleeps in his throat - and she does not know-
And his own name, between the slabs of
temple discovers Hidden. Attached to the bones sleeping under gravestones.
to the house, has become
where another woman with her name, for she weaves a web
. Only
dew on the grass at the foot of the mountain, is the crypt,
crying their tears of love
in the belfry.


is through the word Leonor Buffo exists today for us, beyond physical death occurred on September 6, 1941, when he was 23 years. Leonor
Buffo exists in the poetic dimension and she really gives the illusory world that builds from the self, from its own uniqueness.
Language is stripped of superfluous splendors where she is justified as a thinking, as construction of possible worlds, as having the fortune and misfortune. It is in this mirror we see the poet without masks that cover, is true in his poetry is shown as it is, innocent girl still, excited and spontaneous in love and amazed at the time with its load of forgetfulness passes the poems that disentangling in dichotomies where love is:

A dam to harness the wonderful water of life. Not a bit of it to miss-Dice -, which comes from the clouds, and passed through the bowels of the earth and is sacred. P. 30

The Love is both puzzling that inner place and looking from the site near or distant horizon, where everything converges to the point that lets you view and recognize the wonder and strangeness in front of the universe, creation, nature from a pantheism lived from the solitude and the proximity of the landscape in full communion with the world around
the wonder of the universe and that is how we know it.
Dialectic between sadness and joy, Leonor creates a poignant work of the poet's voice comes independent, thorough and consistent.

Death is a time limit hurry and yet it is life

What death could kill me? What death could stop the great harmony of my being is transformed into a thousand new and smaller as a result harmonies that shells? P. 111 awareness of finitude is overwhelming, but love triumphs over death:

all mine, and I'm around from first to last day.
Who said that eternity is beyond? I am eternity
p. 112