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I will limit myself to saying that the poets that I dislike are those who have abandoned a feel for their own body, who have lost the musicality, the spontaneity.

I also dislike poetry with the tone of a saviour, of an illuminator. However, in the professional practice, I mean, from so many anthologisers, teachers, editors or editorial committees, it seems to me that female poets remain relegated, while, in the case of female prose writers, things seem a bit different.

At least they are texts that I admire and re-reading them continues to provoke questions.

I believe that poetry should consist of a constant questioning, perennial.

While we all develop our own obsessive metaphors (words, recurring images), I am not attracted to writers who seem to be writing a monopoem.

There are poetics that seem overvalued to me, but it’s not for me to mention them.

In this way, sometimes there is not a gender balance when they act in the same way as those who violate communal liberties and achievements.

Although I could go on naming other authors, the aforementioned ones opened up channels of perception for me, and are part of my initiatory journey, along with the internalised expressions of music and dance. A few years ago I realised that I only read work by dead authors and, since then, decided to force myself to read work by my contemporary colleagues; amongst them, ones I definitely try not to lose track of include Mariana Bernárdez, Camila Krauss, Javier Taboada, Jair Cortés, Alejandro Tarrab, Daniel Bencomo, Ingrid Valencia, Daniela Camacho, Tere Avedoy, Fabio Morábito…

When I was a girl, I studied contemporary dance for a few years and one of my ways of registering the choreography was to write down words that, little by little, began to take the form of verses; I would say that these were my first poems, without me knowing they were poems at the time. I’m also reading a book by Coral Bracho, another by Guadalupe Galván, and I’m re-reading Heather Thomas, who I met a few months ago at a poetry reading in Egypt and whose work I enjoy greatly.

My introduction to poetry was aural, before any kind of formal reading.

There was never any lack of poetry books in my parents’ house, so poetry was always close.

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