Author – Dakota Editora, 2015

We expect poetry to name the world for the first time. The countryside, the successive generations that dwell and work in it, simultaneously live in Valeria Meiller’s poetry, nurtured by the serene acceptance of what it means to cohabit with nature: the watering troughs where unwanted litter are drowned, rabbits whose necks are broken to peel them afterwards as an act of love, an ubiquitous 22 long rifle, cartridges and pellets. I don’t know any other pastoral that, in its exalted and daily lyricism, responds better to Rilke’s intuition: “For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror which we are barely able to endure.”

Edgardo Cozarinsky