My name is Jose Angel Carbajal Abal and I was born La Ramallosa, Nigrán in 1961. It was already the last years of the tram and Ramallosa still was a small village, rural.
Sabarís I started to study, there was a religious school. Then I continued studies in a small school that was in Mallón near my house were two classrooms, one for primary education (1 º, 2 º and 3 º EGB) and the other for the following. Soon I noted in the mathematics, as being in fifth and they solved the problems for the eighth and sold for a quarter. It was very crook.
of as a child I remember, I say, I liked long run and it was very fast. My grandmother liked to walk out with me and I have discussed that subject by a rubber band to not stray too far from where she was, it was higher (as well as throw it, it was time to pick up and realized that I was away). I always called Jean.
My mother worked at the Ironworks, which was a family business and we were all well known and close neighbors to each other. They all felt when I was hit by a car. I went with my brother to school in the road, a game we had was nearly run down a path to the road, at a time when no cars, at noon. But that day came and took me ahead (1 month and a half in a deep coma, according to tango played a total of three months in a coma, three years in the hospital).
When I left I continued my studies in a special school in Murcia. I finished Bachelor of the Salesians of Vigo.
The first poem I wrote dates from 1978.
had finished my studies of GBS with written quite satisfactory, I liked literature and why not?, Also believed that he could write like them, the great writers ... at least try. Not only was curious how I felt, there was something else, was concerned, may charm. But it could only reflect the world he saw, what she felt.
And this was my first poem. (And started imitating the classics).
Love
How wonderful thing
is to make life beautiful
to any outsider,
show your honesty!.
She will feel in love
and see what
wrong I was when she felt
too timidly.
All past life
would stay flat
feel that life is beautiful
if you look with simplicity.
comprise at that moment
life tolerated
is beautiful and cheerful
if you live with love.
-1978 -
and see what he had written and I liked it. He was beginning to feel like all those poets who had studied in school: Quevedo, Calderón de la Barca, Machado ...
was not so farfetched the idea of \u200b\u200bwriting life, should try. The words just came out so easily. Do not you think that you should last forever, but could be that someone else was at my side to help me walk, I was beginning to recreate something very nice. But I had to decide, if my mind. And then I bought a book in her pocket and began to write down everything I could think of.
I felt good, it could save so everything you write as did the great writers. I felt like them. Had done by writing the words.
wanted to write rhymed, as they did. But without a copy, should be something of mine. Feelings, dreams, fantasies ... my world of child that would change as time passed. Not thinking about change, only to write: begin to imagine a life written in words, writing life in pictures. Not going all that well, because I felt different from others, away from them. Soon I was realizing that the sadness would be a constant, the loneliness, the poems were to be more than a struggle. Anyway, was looking to define reality, because the accident had left me touched and I was away from her, that reality had become stagnant and I if I had not expected.
And the subject also of the woman's friend. In that school had started to feel something more, darling, but they ignored me and asked me why, maybe I should be the rare. A woman who was my fantasy, which should give you a form.
That girl
That's my wife,
that's the one I want.
is one, but represents them all.
The former
under whose shade I wrap,
under whose cloak I'm lost.
is it that makes me happy at all hours,
with which my heart beats fast
.
That girl is only joy
is only beauty,
whose eyes bury me in fantasy.
She is the girl.
is my wife.
The one I want.
My love is so strong that
jump in cement.
But it is prevented to reach it;
and therefore
is in my memory.
-1982 -
Poems of rebellion, cry out for help. He spoke with tears, because my relationship with a group of youths who met at retreats and talk about religious issues, began to speak of Jesus for support. It was the group
JUM
loneliness I had become more a companion than a martyrdom. And I learned to take refuge, called him friend, I learned to talk to her, while giving it a shape, an image of women.
Silence.
Absolute silence, solitude,
meditation time,
calm moon tear
beautiful song playing.
The window is ajar,
the cold blanket and moved,
an old coffee table and the door
accompanying brief silence.
A wooden shack
where many years have passed serve
companythe keeper
hours in heavy satin.
Only in the distance is
waves listening to his song,
silence, solitude,
meditation time.
-1982 -God was a poet.
God was
poet and his poems were love.
My soul is poetry
and my soul belongs to God.
He, his world,
poetry and inspiration, he gave his love.
pure love, holy love, infinite
God's love.
-1982 -
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