The son of a teacher and an architect, Joan Margarit, an excellent poet and an architect himself, was born in Sanaüja (Lleida), during the Spanish Civil War. The family lived in Rubí, Figueres, Girona and Barcelona at the end of the war, and moved to the Canary Islands in 1954, although Joan returned to Barcelona to study Architecture.
Established with his partner Carles Buxadé and married since 1962, Margarit begins to cultivate poetry. In the early 60s, he is appreciated for his work, but it would take him a decade to write and publish ‘Chronicle’. In 1980, he starts writing poetry in Catalan, as well. For him, if it is not pragmatic, does not drink from reality, it is not poetry. Without that, “humans are in the open”.
In his extensive work, which was awarded with the National Poetry Prize and the National Literature Prize of the Generalitat de Catalunya, we highlight “Joana”, “House of Mercy”, “The Order of Time”, “The Signal Is Lost”.
Joan Margarit says…
Accuracy is simply a hobby unless accompanied with conciseness and love.
Do you know anyone who has failed to attend a rendezvous for lack of time?
The trouble is that ignorance of politicians, their possible perception that culture is an ornament, ends up in legislative and administrative ignorance and therefore eventually reach the very same educators. And then it will come the terrible zenith, when the evil teacher says, blame the system. And the cycle of ignorance is closed.
Inspiration exists, no inspiration means no artwork.
Life is like a mural where everyone brings a touch and then leave; and the mural continues. The word ‘original’ has done much harm to Art.
Fear is not deleted, ever. Like love. These are two powers that should be part of the same strength. A pill that eliminates that has not been invented yet. It is impossible not to feel fear, but you can turn it off, and you must do it. It should not be removed directly, though, or we can create heroes. And the hero, as we know, is a guy who flees forward instead of backward. He flees alike. Turn off the fear, which means knowing it, through intelligence: science, art, culture. For this is the reason why culture exists.
The Team of Killer [Free and Unofficial Translation]
Among the disasters piled like sacks,
Life has given me your love.
Never mind the silence of the night,
The black car that has turned off the lights
The saxophone we listen to on the radio.
What should be flawless is the shoot:
Dangerous and true. Like you in my life.
Final Sense [Free and Unofficial Translation]
Fog and night. I see from insomnia
All the darkness is waiting
Perched like a bird on what I lost.
I have opened the window. The fog dissipates.
I could not forget what I owe you:
The ultimate meaning of the word love.
Brutal as accurate, the night sky.
I wish you a happy and a poetic week,
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