Diego Filloy: “My grandfather advised me to let the poems ‘rest’”

After more than a decade Diego Filloy (Villa Huidobro, 1978) published his second collection of poems: Although nothing ever sews (Co-edition by Cartographies and La Yunta, $20,000). The first, Poems in the Line of Firewas published in Ediciones del Dock in 2013. The author was born in a city in Cordoba, considered by scholars to be the geographical center of Argentina, and is the grandson of the writer and lawyer Juan Filloy. Weeks ago he presented his book in the city of Río Cuarto at the Juan Filloy Personal Library; the author of Caterva He lived in this Córdoba city for more than six decades.

In his new book The poetic accent gives way to politics, sensuality, humor and a sense of resistance to alienation (“a nuisance of the passage” or “an unusual siege of objectivity”) that touches the reader. It also tests out classical forms such as the sonnet and spreads echoes of other literatures. In one to two years he will publish his third volume of poetry. “I want to give the new poems some time; although I also write stories, I only use prose as support and accompaniment,” he tells LA NACION.

A “Mallarmean” cover for “Although Nothing Ever Sutures” by Diego FilloyCourtesy of Diego Filloy

“Too much happened between the first and second books, including a collection of poems that I had completed, with a few tentative titles as defined, but which I discarded because I was looking for a change in tone, voice, a more concrete voice, more docile or pragmatic in its incurable romanticismand also more ironic – he reveals –. I didn’t find it in this book, but in Although nothing ever sews I would think so; By the way, there are poems from this discarded book that I have taken up again and have undergone several corrections. A country also happened, let’s say: And in twelve years you can change enough in various aspects, and politically I have changed enough to understand what surrounds me and me differently. A processing that takes time.”

Filloy works as a producer at Nacional Clásica

Filloy warns that there are common themes in both areas. “Unrequited or unrequited love, the evocation of nature, loneliness that is sometimes kind, sometimes painful; the injustices that make up or rather destroy people’s daily lives with all their brutal persistence – he enumerates -. Also the drink that is not always given in the right measure; the figure of my old man, whom I never mention directly. What they have most in common, however, is an inalienable search for music: musicality, the cadence of verse.; I’m not saying both books ‘sound’ the same, but underground there is music that connects the two.”

“Several friends told me that this was a politicized book,” he reveals. “You don’t call it a criticism, but the point is there: it’s true, it’s a book with more political commitment than the previous one, but I don’t think that’s what matters. Perhaps in this new book the awareness that poetry is a work and not a simple language game comes more clearly to light.which it mostly is, but that’s not the end of it.”

-Do you have anything in common with some “period feelings”?

-We would have to define what these feelings are. I don’t have a clear answer to this, although it is enough to read the international news: there is a rise of a right that questions the limits of democratic institutions and at the same time has its own identity discourse: homophobic, racist, white supremacist, misogynistic and other spices. I must make it clear that I am not a proponent of identity discourse; I believe in social classes and their conflicts. So yes: pessimism, hopelessness and even violence, although contained, is present in the collection of poems. But his other sides are also there: optimism without having any illusions; the tenderness and the belief that the worker becomes aware of his situation and knows how to get out of this quagmire is ruining his living conditions day by day.

– Is your poetry connected to a local poetic tradition?

-I don’t think so, but maybe something gets into my writing and I don’t notice it; Undoubtedly, I sometimes make direct “quotes” and of course there are Argentine poets, some of whom have had a deep influence on me: Giannuzzi, Borges, Pizarnik, Girondo and I’m probably forgetting a few.

-What is your opinion about the poetry currently being written in Argentina? What interests you and what doesn’t?

-I don’t have a definitive opinion as I don’t read many current poets. But from those that I have read, and there are quite a few, I would tell you that it is very good. For me, Luis Tedesco is a contemporary classic, he is extraordinary. There are people with different tastes, like Alejandro Cesario or César Bisso, in whom you can observe commendable language work and sensitivity and with whom I feel identified, even though I approach writing differently. Then there are many places where young poets are given the opportunity to read their unpublished or published verse, and you will find excellent things, others not yet. The latter has to do with my taste: what is excellent and what is not is debatable. I’m interested in poets who go to the bone, in whom you feel authenticity, an uninhabited language that only they know and inhabit. I’m a person who is open to surprises, but I’m not interested in performative poetry or the minimalism that spread and continues in the ’90s and which I think served as a probably very necessary counterculture at the time. Without being definitive, I would like to tell you that my opinion is very good. Argentina has a history of great poets.

-To what extent did your relationship with Juan Filloy influence your decision to write?

– I would tell you right from the start that it had no impact. I discovered poetry when I was thirteen or fourteen years old, reading The Cats in class Baudelaire: It literally blew me away. I always liked cats, from that moment on I liked them more. On the other hand, at that time I was not entirely aware of who my grandfather was, although people were already starting to talk about the “myth” of Filloy, the “hidden writer” and so on. At the age of sixteen I began to write my first verses: It came into being, it was born to me… I didn’t think about my grandfather. After a while I show them to my parents. My old man is excited and tells me to send Filloy something by letter. And a letter journey begins in which my grandfather encouraged me to continue writing; He also gave me a range of advice about writing and his work, advice that I still retain.respect them one by one without adding anything: be patient, “let the poems rest”, correct and study metrics to understand the Spanish language. “Sonnets don’t write themselves,” he told me.

– Does the government have a cultural policy?

-When the State withdraws resources from entities, secretariats or organizations that make an economic contribution or at least contribute to the dissemination and sustainable development of culture, They make it more expensive for the population to access works of art, from plays to popular libraries. The books are not cheap. You also deny the possibility that independent art and culture producers can carry out projects that would exclude private ones from the outset. Issues related to subsidies for nepotism, obedience, etc. can then be discussed; You are wrong and disgust me, but is that a requirement for a clean slate?

-How do you make a living?

-I really enjoy working at Nacional Clásica; The happy part lies in the fact that it is a nice, albeit small, work group that has been reduced through layoffs and the salary borders on or exceeds the poverty line of a typical family, which is not the case for me. My colleagues are dedicated to programming academic music, some jazz, and they do this with a rigor and a pedagogical focus on what they hear that moves them. On the other hand, I am a producer, I am responsible for the general artistic direction of the channel, I coordinate Santiago Giordano’s daily strip: his program The wanderer’s fantasies; I take care of the website and schedule; Every radio fan knows what I mean.