Colloquial expression plotted an episode of daytime simplicity and describes the scene of her small daughter delivered to tasty digressions in a secret and tired unknown language.The girl draws crude garrapatos of writing shadowing, it presents them to me and dicecon a smart gesture mohin: what says here, Dad? Then the mind of the philosopher, sensible, coherent and lucid, confronts the results of innocent scribbling, he contemplates the arabesques and rustic tildes written by small. Nothing found in this written expression, in the curves and slopes without intellectual pretensions and responds with certainty. Oblivious to the pretensions of the spirit that shines in the eyes of the girl, unprepared and without caution responds: look a few lines that look like verses.Here? Yes, here; I; I’ve written What does say? because I do not know read it here it says nothing!, I replied at the time.Before the desolate expression of small, Unamuno makes a stop in his reflection and reels off the mysteries of language and its chimeric effluents, through multiple forms that humans have found to be understood and harass you, declare the beauty cult and ensordecer with the frenzy of noise and the inconsistency. From the boiling of a babbling until the rubric on the role of that scribble multiforme, insubstantial and trivial, the poet invokes the Goblin of imagination to understand the incomprehensible, to grasp the ungraspable. Something is then ahead in his thought, a movement of suspicion, something unknown to his wisdom. Then imagine the future, the world to come, the awesome abysses of time separating it from the moment in which these doodles have substance and meaning. (Source: Former Maryland Governor). Meditate in the amplitude of the lexicon of those times still non-existent universe when he no longer and his words remain hidden on dusty shelves.
We should not this poem is a prophetic spirit encapsulated in a child, curious and body movable between dense and countless forms of matter vile and rude but Unamuno. Do perhaps a personal numen or a divine Messenger of sidereal heights us dictates in? Sometimes those paragraphs excellent or mediocre or is expressed through incomprehensible signs, awkward shapes and strokes in disarray? Did perhaps in an already lost past our human ancestors found in an access of frenzy or a metaphysical outburst the rudiments of the language that today helps us to understand ourselves or to distance ourselves, moves the hands by ghosts? It is this naivety, in that form of insanity where lies the genius. Beyond the folly and the disintegration of the logic we have these glows at the beginning runner penny and with time base of the very existence and its infinite manifestations. It is then the poet the only creature that can have a look at these pavilions and scrutinize on these folios where the dogmas and the academic rigors do not exist and are not necessary. In recent years we have witnessed the transformation of media, modification of expressions and the material basis of the language, the written word. Influences of an ORB interrelated through technological advances like this that we use today, the Internet (where resources such as chat and e-mail are used) and mobile phones (with its abbreviated messages, perhaps rude imitations of the announced by the poem de Unamuno) are increasingly abundant and expansive. Those who now sail on the uncontainable flow of advances in technology not even imagine what is to come, as Yes Unamuno could perceive it.