Interview with Jorge Remacha Pina

The nonconformist feeling instilled by the poems from Claveles de la calle repeats in the personal outlook of Jorge Remacha Pina (Zaragoza, 1996): the poet opens up in this revealing, gratifying conversation about social poetry, the new generation, the power of religion or the ideal society, among other topics.

SPANISH GAY FICTION: Claveles de la calle is your first published book. How did you make it possible?

JORGE REMACHA PINA: Well, I sent the manuscript to a round of publishers specialized in poetry. Just like sending resumes: you see options, you apply for the ones that seem OK for you, and then you wait until they get in touch. Eventually, the publishing house Libros Indie did: they took charge of layout, printing, and more — and here is the book.

SGF: What influences your writing style?

JRP: It depends on the poems. The ones in the book are a selection of those that I have been writing over the years. For instance, some may sound similar to the Beat Generation because I like Allen Ginsberg much. Then others occurred to me rather reading or listening to other social poets, such as Gioconda Belli, Pedro Lemebel, or Gata Cattana.[1] Other ideas came to my mind by reading science fiction. I think there is a little bit of everything.

SGF: Except for the rhyming poem “MENAs,”[2] no other classical feature can be found in your work. Why did you break away from tradition?

JRP: I think that this is the only rhyming poem because it rhymed while I was creating it, so I tried to keep it that way. The rest do not rhyme as it is not an issue that I care about when writing. For example, I care more about words symbolizing ideas, whether they exist or not. If in my mind I see the images of what I am writing, then even more ideas come … so I keep writing. In the middle of it all, I do not have a head for rhyming.

SGF: The acknowledgement section says that you were picked up “from the darkest alleys of the mind.” What did you mean?

JRP: On the one hand, some poems in the book exist because they helped bring out what is in my mind on a bad streak. On the other hand, I think it is not something that individual: I speak from the youth, working class, sexual diversity perspective. Of course I am talking about difficult psychological situations, because not only have they happened to me, but more people may see themselves in them. This was one of the reasons why I decided to publish the book. Everyone can have a bad time, but if my book — which I wrote to feel better — can help someone feel identified and gather inner strength, then its publication will make sense.

SGF: Your poems encourage to social nonconformity. Is this your own philosophy?

JRP: This is not my philosophy: there is a whole tradition of culture from below and the margins, self-affirming, and linked to ideas that speak in terms of emancipation. I have invented nothing. What lies behind the ideas expressed in this book is a mix of work, study, organization, second-hand books and my condition of being as queer as a three-dollar bill.

SGF: You are under 30. What is your idea of a dream society?

JRP: My dream society does not have social classes or endure oppression: a very old idea that seems to be a kind of trendy again among young people. You can see it in the demonstrations around the world that have erupted in this crisis, in which there are many people my age. My generation is leaving one crisis and entering another. However, I think that pessimism is the last thing that we need, as it is a burden. We are not victims all the time: we can hold on and fight, as it has usually been, so as to always move forward.

SGF: The dull, mediocre reality portrayed in your book is distinctly urban. Do you think that the situation is different in the countryside?

JRP: I speak of the urban world because it is the one I know: I cannot speak of the countryside as I have never lived in a village. I did not write a book like this to say that reality is dull and mediocre, or the world is all peaches and cream: it says that our strength comes from a grey world to paint it pink. The book is called Claveles de la calle because I live next to the backside of a flower shop where at night they throw away what remained unsold: my house has been filled with flowers many times. And all this looked like a symbol to me: they will throw you away if you are not profitable, but you are a flower anyway.

SGF: The book mentions several revolutionary movements throughout history. How inspiring are they to you?

JRP: The ones named in the book are the stories that I have known, and they show that there have been generations daring to try to take control of their own lives. But I like the extras more than the protagonists. I am much more interested in these people — who are nameless in the books — taking to the streets and changing their lives rather than those who lead the revolutions. And also all the tireless efforts before something breaks out, so that it can be a success. Thus, instead of thinking whether I would have liked to live this or that revolution in the past, I would rather know what I am doing if I see something like this happening in the present or future.

SGF: In terms of non-conformist spirit, do you feel that any past time was better?

JRP: I am 23: I do not want to be nostalgic for times past. If there is alienation, I also do not want to blame it to the people or society. This is something that I want the book to show, and I am not sure if I have succeeded: the idea that the vast majority of ordinary people who want a decent and peaceful life have the feeling that they are worth more than what they receive. In addition, you never know what might happen.

SGF: How important is the LGBT community in the fight for a better society?

JRP: Someone has to add glitter to this better society.

SGF: The first lines of the poem “Inapropiadas” come from Mecano’s song “Mujer contra mujer.”[3] What is your opinion about this song?

JRP: This is a song to sing the emotionally charged, flamboyantly camp way. And I think that this is very important, because true hymns are to bring out what is buried putting your hands up. In addition, the truth is that there has been a history of invisibility regarding women who love women. As if they were in not only the closet, but a box at the back of the closet — though a music box.

SGF: How autobiographical is the poem “No sé si queda claro”?

JRP: It may be an autobiographical poem, but not just mine. It is produced with words that you hear because of who you are: they are sometimes more hurtful, at other times more common sense. And I am not the only one who has heard them. I wrote this poem to cheer up even if they are discriminating against you: to get your claws out and regain your lust for life.

SGF: There are numerous symbols and expressions associated with Christianity throughout the book—

JRP: If you attend a convent school you become atheistic in the end, though an absurdly huge list of religious hymns remain in your head. In the book they symbolize the commands from my childhood and how hard it is getting rid of them, as well as a sense of fault, fault, the most grievous fault for things that you are not guilty of. I have studied more religions, and I believe they are something to keep away from all kinds of power over anyone.

SGF: The name “Rockland” appears a couple of times in the book. Why?

JRP: Yes, it is a nod to Ginsberg’s “Howl;” the name is there. Rockland is the asylum where he is sent for sexual deviation, and the way he uses it in his poems echoes inside you. That is why it is in my book: as a non-literal symbol, but a symbol of the places you leave behind when overcoming the danger of disappearing.

SGF: Can you tell about your upcoming projects?

JRP: Now I am promoting this book because, right after it was launched, a pandemic began: I could expect every kind of problems but this. I am also promoting a board game about the labor movement called ¡A la huelga! (“On Strike!”), which was already in stores — and the same thing happened. I picked the best time to launch everything … Meanwhile, I am looking for a job, as well as writing another book and creating another board game for next year: these two will be historical this time.

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[1] Stage name of Ana Isabel García Llorente (1991-2017). Although she was popularly known as a hip hop singer — a discipline which she put her feminist, politically committed stamp on —, she also published in 2016 her only poetry book: La escala de Mohs (“The Mohs Scale”).

[2] MENAs = Menores Extranjeros No Acompañados (“Foreign Unaccompanied Minors”). With a significant presence in Spain — and mainly of African origin —, this is another social issue that Remacha Pina points to in his work: children and teens, all alone, at serious risk of social exclusion and neglect.

[3] Mecano has been one of the most successful Spanish pop bands of all time. The song “Mujer contra mujer” (“Woman Against Woman”), released in 1988, became a breakthrough at the time since it deals with lesbianism, rarely tackled in music up until then. Today, this hit remains as an iconic hymn for the Spanish LGBT community.

The Cannibal Dynamo

On Jorge Remacha Pina’s Claveles de la calle (“Street Carnations”)

In these critical times because of COVID-19 pandemic — so hard to control by now — we all have heard opposing voices to the measures that governments worldwide are imposing on their citizens so as to overcome the problem: mostly, they claim a drastic change in the state of affairs. It is truly coincidental that this very year has seen the publication of this book (before the pandemic declaration in Spain) consisting of 30 poems: verses free from classical forms, and openly contrary to the rules of the social system. Thus, unexpectedly topical.

We can easily see the first poem, “Juramento” (“Oath”), as a true statement of intent on the main theme of the book: the poet’s commitment to social issues, in favor of the most helpless: the poor, the fallen, the hard working class … Even this statement is extended in another poem, “Nadie está mirando” (“Nobody Is Watching”), focusing on the most disadvantaged: prostitutes, drug addicts, repressed homosexuals, minors undergoing psychological problems, etc.

The reality depicted by Remacha Pina lacks humanity: in “Te Deum,” God is technology: a divinity cruel to mankind who provides miserable working conditions for His servants. “Saben lo que haces” (“They Know What You’re Doing”) expresses the idea of society as a system where individuals are ominously controlled. In another poem, “La vida se abre camino” (“Life Paving the Way”), the poet suggests that today’s lifestyle only leads to making an army of zombies: exhausted workers whose whole bodies ache; in addition, the citizen is compared to a slave in “Yo robot” (“I Robot”): the poetic voice uses expressions related to computing to evince this dehumanization; love is a lost file in the system, and the poet wants to recover it.

The city is represented as a prison where happiness is impossible to pursue: “Sincronía” (“Synchrony”). The noise from the television in “Sosiego encofrado” (“Framed Quietness”) conceals the feelings of all the members of a family; in a block of buildings, each and every inhabitant suffers anguish in their small cubicles. Moreover, in “Pesada sentencia” (“Heavy Sentence”), the monotonous life that society entails could inevitably drive to despair and, in consequence, suicide.

The situation for the youth is no better: “La hormiga más pequeña del mundo” (“The Smallest Ant in the World”) deals with this generation — Remacha Pina’s generation — regarded as the best prepared to success; however, they have precarious, less-paid works. Porn and video chat seem to be the uncomplicated oases in their colorless lives, but this actually shows an obvious lack of affection. In “El viaje del desarraigo” (“The Journey to Uprooting”), the poet portrays weekends for teenagers as chances for casual sex and fast relief, in opposition to schools, factories and juvenile detention centers undermining their desire for freedom: the system does tame. In other poems — “Cuento de sábado noche” (“Saturday Night Tale”), “De vuelta a casa” (“Way Back Home”), “Claveles de la calle II” (“Street Carnations II”) — we can still find other examples of confusion and listlessness in this lost generation: drugs, clubbing, prostitution, sordid sex as an appealing combination for a trip to ephemeral comfort … though no place to call home.

Of course, here in spanishgayfiction.blogspot.com we never miss our goal: there are two enchanting, committed poems dealing with the LGBT issue. First, “Inapropiadas” (“Unsuitable Women”), in which the poet tells about a couple of lesbians breaking social taboos by walking down the street holding hands and kissing. They decided not to follow the traditional rules imposed to women — marrying a man or becoming a nun — and eventually won the fight: the people that used to spit them out on the street in the past, they now step aside. Then, in “No sé si queda claro” (“Not Sure If I Make Myself Clear”), the poetic voice claims that he has been raised with a steady, staggering social objection to his natural way of being: the adult now refuses to keep afraid of not fitting in, or even suffer verbal or physical abuse. And this personal rebellion is precisely a key fact in these compositions: the poet’s indelibly positive attitude, regardless the hostile circumstances.

Remacha Pina, in “Siempre buscando una salida” (“Always Looking for an Exit”), speaks about the compelling need to raise a fist and wave a flag; stand up and light a torch. Fear has been silencing diverse voices for a long time, prompting to a general anger. (We can find a similar idea in “Neurosis:” this mental disorder means, after all, the anxiety caused by the awareness of the actual state of reality, which appeals to defiance). Those who do not conform to the pattern of this world endure contempt, or even aggressions: there is an urging demand to put an end to these social rules, which want to finish with the different ones, in order to seek true freedom. To this end, the author displays inspiring examples from the past. . .

There is a constant remembrance of revolutions throughout the book, but particularly in the poem “Ni cadenas ni corsés” (“Neither Chains Nor Corsets”): the French Revolution, the February Revolution, the Kurdish rebellions, the Paris Commune, the Stonewall riots, the Egyptian revolution of 2011, etc. (As a matter of fact, the poem is dedicated to the international socialist feminist organization Bread & Roses.)

However, the most ruthless skeptics may wonder: What will happen after the tables turn? Well, the last month of the year, “Diciembre” (“December”), implies a metaphor for the end of hard times and the beginning of a favorable adjustment with an excellent result: fruitfulness, like the arrival of spring.

Claveles de la calle is a heartening collection of disturbing, bewildering, awe-inspiring poems with a clear message to the reader: a better life is possible if you just fight for it. Like the panther from “La ley de la selva” (“The Law of the Jungle”) — who grew docile and became another piece of the social gear … but eventually regained her natural self-awareness and turned into a panther again — you are also cordially invited to the revolution.