Pictured: Juan Ramirez Ruiz.
many years ago in Lima and Chiclayo, talking to Juan Ramirez Ruiz on his poetry, his theories, his marginal experiences. I always said that the life he led was his choice, and well, I can only talk and more talk, ask, learn, learn of His creative word. I was interested in his poetry, and he, my criticism. I told him that after Vallejo was him who else had dared to experiment in poetry, and that genius ground weapons , his writing of beans, metaphors unpublished, his vast knowledge of our heroes Amazonian, Andean and coastal, was not only superior achievement in the poetry of our day, but a challenge to the understanding of our to be Peruvian any careful reader. Now
Juan Ramirez Ruiz is dead. A bus ran over him in July last year and recently we have been told that land lies in Trujillo. Many friends are now talking about it, they remember and tell their stories with the great poet. It's beautiful to hear from all who knew him a minute, months, years, drank with him, shared a book, a word. But it is not pleasing to some who knew little or a lot call themselves stewards of their memory, warn of "vultures" or "opportunistic" when speaking of the poet soon fell silent. It is gratifying that "hateful meanness, wanting to ban testimony, letters, poems, tributes to anyone who wants to. Who want to remember it. Tell their stories freely all. Know that the poet lives in the memory of the people, and anyone who loves poetry. Ojo, curators, mean: no one owns the memory of the great poet.
I now open my files and find the outline of chronic I started many years ago, when he took notes and Juan Ramirez Ruiz spoke, drank, let half done the interview, laughed:
Juan Ramirez Ruiz: The Voice of the street / Ricardo Virhuez
Juan Villafane is 16 and has already looked at the eyes of death. But this time feels different. This time there is the distant memory of the final game of his mother and sister while still a child. Now it seems more real. Now is young. Understand things more clearly and fear. The hands of his ailing father are flaccid and thin, bony. When John returns home in mobility that brings him to Ferreñafe Chiclayo, simply head to think about the father who died in his front, no doctors or nurses to help him block his path to death. John is half way down and starts walking. Feel the lightness of life. The future can not be anything today. Suddenly, the words emerge, live images constructed with verbs, words that have it and take it by force of this present fucked and finite. That was the birth, so was born the conscience of the sentence of poetry.
Juan Ramirez Ruiz was born in Chicago in 1946, and since the death of his parents moved to Lima. Entered the study at Villarreal, but in reality it was writing poetry, reading a mile a minute and, as always, fighting their lungs with words. The poetry of that time did not satisfy him, mainly because the sounds heard in the streets and in the market, in classrooms and among friends, seemed to belong to another world, a world in which poetry had not deigned to enter completely. His room was a street poet: small, messy, warm and simple. There, in the classroom, in the cafes in the center and in bars, wrote poetry that he had owned. Met the poets who had some fame and those already published in platelets and magazines. He had also poets and poets San Marcos adults and path. His language became more intense and fully felt the freedom of writing.
Then, together with Julio Polar, Mario Luna, José Carlos Rodriguez and Jorge Pimentel Jorge Najar, 68, in Villarreal, gave life to the group Zero Hour, designed to represent the new Peruvian poetry, and above all, to the best of Peruvian folk poetry. John wrote the manifesto signed their peers. John continued to write all the manifestos, giving life to draft a concrete poetry, then, was aware of everything that many people did not seem serious ...
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