Andrés Cabrera (Holguín, 1995) is a poet and storyteller who graduated from the Onelio Jorge Cardoso Literary Training Center. With his texts he has won awards in Cuba and in other countries. His works make up several anthologies. We interviewed him for our series dedicated to young Cuban creators.
“Who are you writing for?”
—I write for myself, first of all, because I consider writing an act of liberation, an extension of my body. That is why I write; to express myself, to be free. Even if no one read me, I would keep writing.
“Where do you find poetry?”
“Poetry roams everywhere.” I personally find her in pain.
—Your poems, are they the impulse of a moment or a restful work?
—My poems are the impulse of a moment, of an emotion.
“When is a poem ready?”
—When the right words have been expressed, the necessary ones. When the beautiful has been found.
“Are you a” character “in your poems?
—I am a character in all my texts.
“How much do you undress in your literature?”
—In literature I have been undressing little by little. I have been developing calmly, according to the moment and personal maturity. Andrés Cabrera still has a lot to learn, to grow, to show.
“How much work do you throw away?” How much do you hide?
—In poetry I do tend to discard jobs that are insufficient for me. On the other hand, in narrative, when I sit down to write it is because I have already thought about everything; at least the fundamentals. Even though these aspects may vary. I have written several poems and stories still unpublished, as well as a novel that, at some point, I have to end.
“Do you like to read your works aloud?”
—Yes, I enjoy reading my texts aloud, especially when I do it for others.
“Do you read?” Do you memorize your poems?
—Yes, I read; but I do not memorize my texts, except for the occasional fragment.
“Do you drink conscientiously from other authors?”
“Yes, I drink to the conscience of others.” It is a way to learn, to practice, to experiment, to overcome. What could become of the student without the knowledge of the teacher?
“To create, day or night?”
“There is no time to create.” At any moment you can feel inspired; but I undoubtedly prefer the morning.
“What does the published work mean?”
—Publishing, apart from satisfaction, is opening the way to a new project.
—Do you retouch, edit your texts over time?
—I usually re-read and republish my texts over time, hence for writers publishing is an act of liberation, of rest.
“Do you believe in the guild?”
-Why not?
“What is your ideal reader?”
—My ideal reader is the one who has fun, the one who is willing to free himself from the shackles of reality, the one who is willing, like Margarita, to get on the broom and fly away.
“Is literature at some point alienation?”
-Sometimes.
“What do the awards mean?”
—The awards are not only recognitions for the author, but also a way to make visible a work and its fundamental aspects. But I also have to point out that awards are not indicators of greatness or quality. The last word will always be the readers, they are the true judges.
—How do you handle criticism?
—I have to accept criticism with respect, taking it as a challenge that must be overcome.
“Would you like your texts to be musicalized?”
—I have never considered the musicalization of my texts, on the other hand, I have always wanted to see something of my narrative brought to reality, interpreted by someone from their personal vision. It would be interesting, wonderful.
FIVE POEMS BY ANDRÉS CABRERA
Photo: Yuris Nórido
When you wake up
I feel like Celestino
My life has been the prey of axes
When I show you my poetry
that you don’t understand
Because in your innocent and fragile body
that greatness does not fit
I do not blame you
When I was a seed, my mommy verse didn’t understand it either
I know you don’t understand love
But when you wake up in the cold morning
and find me with the rope around my neck
run
do not let me die
Just a name
It’s a challenge to be called Alexis
and walk naked on the sidewalk at night
It’s a challenge to be called Alexis
descendant of Alejando
protector of men
ruler of the world
It is a challenge to walk barefoot
with your head held high
in front of the knowing gaze of men
and be called Alexis
It is the greatest challenge to be called Alexis
Before the useless combat of pretending to be worthy
of that name
That your father stamped on your forehead at the first light
of the day of the holy innocents
And that you threw without hesitation
against the waves
When heaven opened glorious for you
And fell before your eyes
between your hands
over your body
the infinite pendulum of the night
In the shade of lavender
Every day
before the altar in honor of silence
the steam opens my pores
and the liquid served on the porcelain
reminds me of the challenge it is to live
in the shade of lavender
among the offerings
stripped of my own facts
Tied to this daily hour
in which everything is summed up to a single solemn act
where to serve tea
it’s a cult of loneliness
To stay awake
I have to polish the cauldron where I roast the grain
to boil the nectar arranged on the stove
and to strain it between my dreams
I have to drink and stay awake
waiting for my mother’s return
saving the bitter drink so that he does not sleep
so that it does not rest on the pillow
so that he will not tangle his hair in the ground
to give me a hug and an eternal kiss
where to be born which sprout to its flesh
And that the flight does not turn on again
like a lonely bird
leaving the nest to my fate
I will never kiss you
Maybe that night the sea breeze confused you
or the singing of young people on the Malecón in Havana
Perhaps from the moon you were prey to his deception
Or mine, man
And I never tire of repeating that word
I don’t know if it was the alcohol or the moon that caused your smile that night
When you threw yourself naked on the most faithful of your brothers
and you were among the waves of the night the freest of men
What was your misfortune!
That God had arranged another glory on my head
And the weight of your body on mine was like a slight rest
a sigh
a mirage of my own sex
an olive branch thrown into the holy fire
This is how your young body will burn
and I will never kiss you.
