The verse of Matanzas, the verse of the Nation, has died. Carilda Oliver Labra stopped breathing and, with her, poetry is also a bit orphan of light.
There are no possible words to describe the cloud of sadness that falls on this city that he loved intensely, on an island full of his pen, of his exquisite sensibility and the smile that will always remain lodged in the Calzada de Tirry 81.
…Recording on line
An intense pain, that even reaches those who love his work and his life throughout the world.
Entire Cuba will mourn Carilda, that of Sing to Matanzas and eternal admiration for Fidel, who sent his poetic thanks to the Commander in Chief to the Sierra in the boots of a soldier; Carilda, the disorderly, who had to sell a door of his house to survive in other years and still, never left his country, his beloved Matanzas; to the woman who imposed her voice when many did not dare, in a beautiful, but forceful way; being bathed in luminescence and eternally inspiring eyes, that of the nine most beautiful decades I have ever known.
About two years ago she talked about herself as a poet who was finishing living … and I did not believe it. The right to death should not exist for people like her who radiated joy, hope, people whose kindness does not fit into her body and offers it with every lucid look, with every melodious word, with every grateful smile.
The corporeal space of the Matanzas Bride has expired, but from now on, her free spirit, reborn, will retrace the streets of the city to which she had to, she confessed, her greatest joys; from now on, his infinite lights will be expanded by the city that owes so much to his footprint, to his priceless stamp for Cuban culture.
August 29 will be a sad date from today, because not every day a symbol becomes a legend, not every day the silence takes over the streets and people stay as if the weather slows down and the air becomes more dense. Nature also pays tribute to you, Carilda, to you who left with 96 years of age, radiant, victorious, vibrant and, ironically, full of life.
The verse of the Motherland has died. Matanzas and Cuba today are in mourning. Poetry from today will remain a little more mute.