Ignar is a fairly odd collection. Perhaps an ancestral elegy, scattered into tiny fragments that the passing of time has slowly tied up, thus creating new and mysterious meanings. Or perhaps an enigmatic codex found in a Catalan catacomb. In its foreword, Lluís Calvo states that the book can be read as the narrative of “a decomposing world, fragmented by its own rapaciousness, which nevertheless still maintains a strong longing for the unity lost, and for a God that was certified dead, but for which it has found no replacement, either in art or in the soul”. A conversation with tradition uttered from a position of ignorance; subterranean, yet celestial. “The poetry of Gabriel Ventura dispenses with all things rhetorical and pursues the highest possible amounts of essentality and expressiveness”.
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