• Obituary: Luis Eduardo Aute dies, lover of love and beauty

In Aute's songs there is the possibility of the poet. In Luis Eduardo's poems is the certainty of the musician. But between one thing and the other there is a guy who has made slowness a compelled elegance . From the silence a very delicate expression. The one who by saying summons us like a good fire. We don't know exactly what he wanted to be first, I think film director. Or bouquiniste in Paris. Or just voyeur , stroller, painter of fleeting prints. But then he defeated himself on the language side and thus wrote what cannot be said otherwise. Aute's poetry comes from the flashing of the avant-garde and settles (with age) in the urgency of the immediate verse, in the play on words, in the certainty of uncertainty. More or less.

That first book with which he inaugurated the office of getting tired, The Mathematics of the Mirror (1975), came with the unstable decibels of the first occasions. Aute was already a musician, but he was still only a poet . In this country it is not convenient to step on two tiles at the same time, the third someone opens a hole in your path.

He met Cocteau and then knew that the only way to draw an outline is to do what you want, failing better and better. His writing is a syntax that is very close to his life. He was not a poet, but he knew that what he was looking at was that molecule. The same in the stupor poems as in those of rage. Same in erotic verses as in absences. He was a very lonely subject who wrote crowds when writing . The Liturgy of Disorder (1978) is perhaps his best-armed set. " I, / the sphere, / love or the shared fire, / Music, / the liturgy of disorder / and --among other magic - / the beauty of Chance in accident ". He handles poetry with delicacy and it adapts very well to the merchandise he dispenses. The lyrical beauty of his songs is clear, but it has a reason for his passion for poetry , for well-read teachers. And in the desire to want to sing it.

In recent years, he gave himself up to another dispersion . Some poems with a hooligan spirit, ironic, sometimes desolate. Brief. Harpoons that have their roots in the Gomez de la Serna greguerías or in the Carlos Edmundo de Ory aerolites . Unforeseen combinations of objects, concepts, visions that break the seams on the side of surprise. The 'saga' began with AnimaLuno , in 1994. And the last time we shared a laugh and some winks hand in hand was at the presentation of EL SEXtO ANIMAL (Espasa Poesía), on May 23, at the Los Editores bookstore. There he displayed a reading in which he revealed that bifocal condition of his sarcasm. The vocation to look at the world with a telescope and with a microscope. From big to tiny . Or vice versa. And mix it up. And make jump the immovable, the immutable. He called these little artifacts Poemigas .

He liked the trap and the cardboard that the language also generates, that the words allow. He did it as a meek transgression, but a transgression. He almost lived with a vocation to erase himself, without stopping working on a thousand fronts that were the same. He is a poet who sings songs that say things that alleviate sadness or highlight plural nostalgia . He spilled on so many fronts because he soon learned that you have to avoid being too much yourself when the public squeezes. This is how he reached that personal voice when he sings, showing at the end that so many Luis Eduardos can only fit in an Aute. For what else.

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