Maradona has died

Postcards for an Apocryphal Gospel
How does one write a life after death? From where does one narrate the life of someone who is no longer? How are the feats of one who exists only in memory sung? How are these questions answered when the absent one is (or was) a D10s? These are the questions that seem to traverse Nicolás Guglielmetti's tenth book. Questions that, from the uncertainty that passion brings once tempers have cooled, and from the technical recovery of a poetic from the nineties, seek to be answered by addressing the greatest number of facets, facing the myth in its very complexity, and dodging (if I may be allowed the verb) between devotion, controversy, and the images with which pagans attack. Thus, then, Guglielmetti, bifurcates, duplicates, becomes a self and also another. He writes, on one hand, as a narrator: as a biographer who collects postcards, scenes of Maradona seen in the third person, from the eyes of his faithful, of his devotees, who remained with the memory of his passage on this earth, repeating the prayer of his miracles, carefully guarding the scattered talismans and concealing the blood proximity of his descendants and relatives. These texts are also those of the public scene, of bars, beaches, fields, and, of course, newspapers and television.