Lo que el pájaro bebe en la fuente y no es el agua

'Pass through the shapes like an animal through grass, leaving only the fragrance on its fur. I aspire to be the humble apprentice of that animal.' This is how Chantal Maillard defines the work of writing that began almost three decades ago and with which she has founded a hybrid, open, border territory, between poetry and philosophy, essays and diaristic reflection, the personal and the collective, the human and the non-human... Maillard's work aspires to embody the work of consciousness and at the same time to cure us of our blindness as a species, our excessive pride. This volume, which brings together the strictly poetic work composed so far this century, from Killing Plato (2004; National Poetry Prize) onwards, is a lesson in life and thought, capable of enlightening us and giving us comfort, relief. She says it herself: 'I write so that the poisoned water can be drunk'.