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THE LOVE STORY OF THE CENTURY. Mouth on a text by Marta Tikkanen.

Urgently

I recommend you you go to the Market Theatre, until Sunday 14 November, to see the play The love story of the century by mouth on the poems of the same name by writer Finnish Märta Tikkanen. Directed by Mariano Anós and cleanly played by the wonderful actress Ana Garcia, who pinpoints the powerful verses written in the seventies by Tikkanen to explain the destabilization terrible that her husband's alcoholism led to his life and those of her four children. The clarity of the text is reflected beautifully by the sober staging and the luminous performance of Ana García. Despair lost love, suffering and fear of children, writing, past-his mother and grandmother of the protagonist, and the future of those same children. The allusion to the situation shared with many other women, and complicity in them to succeed. All this in a direct and daily language that dissects the aftermath of the events until the impenetrability of the words becomes clear as he writes his own Tikkanen.

mouth also has a teaching unit and in parallel, Unnamable Books has reissued the book of poems, previously published Hyperion and was discontinued. It is difficult to choose a poem, I leave you with this.

ACCOUNTS

ME that I fall asleep by the door and

indoor resting her head on the dog so many nights that

biked

crying the day he

your dog died the dog meant more to you

your father and your mother always

were drunk and were never at home

nor knew what to do with you

is sad and cry

I'm sitting in a chair in front of you

and I have time to think about many things

because history is not short

and not the first to see

I hear you

still counting and I there in the chair I wonder why

say nothing of the nights when your children

have not dared to sleep

but have gone into hiding behind the corner

to watch you play it safe so

dad will not

started drinking again right?

how is dad?

here does not smell of brandy, right?

sure you sure

no drinking tonight?

While you cry until he fell asleep

because there are so sorry to have you

so having had an alcoholic father

I keep wondering if he could sit

burn my hate and

become white ash

while you're lying there whimpering

not think for a moment

your children also have

father