Nada dos veces, el podcast de poesía

Nada dos veces is a Spanish-language poetry show with the manners of a book launch and the appetite of a late-night literary conspiracy. It does not treat a new title as a summary to be filed away. It handles the book first. Plastic comes off, covers are inspected, flaps are read, first sentences are requested, and a random page can become the door into the whole conversation. From there, the program builds interviews that are theatrical, intimate, and unusually specific. A question may arrive as a miniature essay, already carrying a thesis about rhythm, orphanhood, addiction, God, flowers, childhood, or the debris of public language. Recent episodes range from María Yolanda García’s compact prose around body and drinking to Ana Torres Licón’s prayer-shaped anger and cadence. Latika opens a conversation about literature for children through loss, monsters, fathers, and the networks that help independent books travel. Rocío Angulo Dorado’s geraniums become a way to speak about grandmothers, women’s genealogy, care, death, and memory that keeps flowering in the wound. Rebeca Libertad Ícaro’s episode turns toward ritual, shadow, medicinal roots, blue flowers, and the work of inhabiting the hidden rooms of the self. Julio María’s poems bring fatherhood, Telemachus, scraps of childhood, boredom, leisure, and a handmade tower from personal wreckage. Buba Alarcón’s conversation reaches collage, news fragments, bureaucracy, Juárez, archives, and the insistence that a person is never only a case file. The show is brisk and irreverent, but not careless. It jokes, presses, interrupts itself, asks for another poem, and then lets the reading land. Its best moments feel embodied: the page, the voice, the wound, the flower, the silence after a line. For listeners who want poetry as living weather rather than polite decoration, Nada dos veces has a sharp, affectionate pulse.