• Aute dies, lover of love and beauty
  • Antonio Lucas.Aute: singing poetry
  • Tribute in 2016. Make it holy
  • Essential songs: Aute in 10 songs: protest, heartbreak and existentialism from dawn to the darkest night
  • Reactions. Music mourns Luis Eduardo Aute: "He was an integral artist"
  • Album: His life, in pictures

Eduardo poet, Eduardo musician, Eduardo with a velvet voice, Eduardo painter, Eduardo next, within reach, Eduardo with a beard and long fingers with a cigarette between them , Eduardo always next to a guitar, Eduardo on tour, Eduardo walking In slow motion, Eduardo from everyone and from himself.

Somehow / I will have to forget you, / as much as I want / it is not easy, you know ... Everything from now on has another meaning. His tours, his way of starting a song, that shyness that disarmed. That calm gaze, like that of the Little Prince on his satellite.

I am seeing him without seeing him at the Ruber International, in a sunny room. Up there we went in groups of three, when Miguel Munárriz and Palmira Márquez told us that such a day and at such a time. It was a Saturday morning with rain and silence. Marichu, his wife, at the door. The visits with a sick face, not knowing what to say, what to do, as if we were entering a temple where he always bothers .

He hardly said anything that day. Miraba was smiling, the guitar in a corner. Skinnier still, more him. With the look of a child, looking at us from afar. As if he hadn't fully woken up from that stroke that hit him on the road . The family weighing whether they took him to Cuba to be seen there. I could not see Pablo, one of his children, who did an internship in the Culture section of this newspaper so many years ago. You looked at Pablo but you saw him

I want you not to abandon me, my love at dawn, at dawn, at dawn . Eduardo composed the song against Franco's executions, but the lovers, those who did not know about it , sang it to their girlfriends, wrote it down on paper and delivered it as the greatest demonstration of love.

He gave away poems and drawings like someone offering water in August. I listened, I heard, I accompanied. You were leaving his house in that neighborhood near the Pirulí, next to the Fuente del Berro, being another. "Look what I'm doing." There were his brushes, his paintings, the shelter, his factory.

I see him go slowly, towards the end of the corridor leaning on Marichu's shoulder, very slowly, somewhat hunched over, as if injured . And also like taking air.

I am not afraid of life, nor of death / when I feel your heart beating in my chest .

Luis Eduardo Aute was one of those who bet on this newspaper when it was only a conjecture. He was one of the first shareholders and he was always there when he was called from the newsroom to ask him for a few lines about this or that. He participated in adventures like Words to stop a war , or something like that, against the bombings of Iraq or some similar outrage. It was always there.

In the office that all the directors of this newspaper have been occupying, since the first day this newspaper went out, there is a painting by Eduardo. He titled it Clark Kent fleeing in terror from a pink cherub . A journalist on the run, with the urgency of the latest, with his tie in the air for speed, lost glasses, the word Presss escaping from his hat, the journalist turning back looking at an angel, a cherub. It was brought by his friend Pedro J. Ramírez, founder and first director for so many years of this adventure. And there it continues, like a scapular. It is the amulet of those of us who are there.

Chilling was the tribute that was paid to him at the Palacio de Deportes in Madrid in December 2018. Pijos, officials, Mayosesentayochistas, various girl. There was a full hour and a half before the concert. In the absence of a hug, one will be there. For the stage, Josn Manuel Serrat, Sabina, Ana Belén, Miguel Poveda, Rozalén, Marwan, Massiel. And Rosa León opening that white watermelon with Al alba . A shudder spread in silence. No one looked at anyone , each had enough to endure the type. And he, a stone's throw away. "Are you listening to us at home?" He asked himself. That was arranged by a quick and smart young man, his son, Miki Aute. Hours before he said that it had not cost him anything, that everyone signed up, everyone wanted to be there.

I was passing by, passing by here / no phone nearby / and I couldn't resist / passing by here .

Eduardo, Luis Eduardo Aute was born in Manila (Philippines) on September 13, 1943. His father worked there in a tobacco factory that was managed by another father of a leading poet from the 70s until today, Jaime Gil de Biedma. There he learned English, there he began to paint. He exhibited for the first time at the Alarcón Gallery in 1960. He composed for others, with that generosity of his own. Until they told him, now you. Yes, but I don't have to act .

A flash of dreams / between whips and owners / A heart of life, / A suicidal tear, / A blood spilled, / The reasons for the sword, / Hallelujah .

This song, Hallelujah No. 1 , and At dawn , so curdled, so his already, appeared on their first album, Dialogues by Rodrigo and Jimena . And then so much, so many songs for so many, so many performances. Until today. See you tomorrow. Until every day and every night.

According to the criteria of The Trust Project

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