Press

'Corva', by Yanina Giglio (Libero Editorial). A collection of poems endowed with the freshness and wild impetus of childhood with which its author opposes corporeity to female roles, in a poetic act of insubordination.

To guarantee transparency and that each of the stories has no less than two readings, the Itaú Digital Story Award brings together a reading committee made up of writers, journalists and cultural managers from different provinces of Argentina, Paraguay and Uruguay. For Argentina: Yanina Giglio (Bernal) ...

Conference by Karen Álvarez Tedín, Elizabeth Di Benedetto, Camila Chenlo and Yanina Giglio. Activity within the framework of the exhibition Borges y Lugones, El Falso Discípulo at the Jorge Luis Borges Center for Studies and Documentation of the National Library.

“I remember myself being very small in a blue dress with red freckles following my father who plowed. With oxen. On the back of the oxen many birds of different sizes and colors were standing. It was a supernatural group. Dad said -Why don't you make a book? In another interview he will say: "One day in the garden, suddenly, I became related to the magnolia."

Giglio continues her poetic career starting from a physical agitation that is transferred to the poetic word, the Argentine writer seeks to detach herself from the correlative impositions of adherence to a certain sociocultural order, rethinks the role of women in it and, as tracing an invisible hand back towards the body, it expands the walls of reality.

The man is a misplaced, a utilitarian of the most extreme rank; Captain Parilla is also a man. What would have happened to our humanity if instead of using the Earth, we served it? Would we be on time?

Today the writer and editor Yanina Giglio gets on our train and presents us her story "Abrapalabra", a short story selected in 2018 as part of the New Argentine Narrative of Audio Tales collection, organized by unabrecha.com.

Yanina talks about the art of getting lost in order to find oneself. With everything it implies. His poem 'Iridescent' remains in my mind, with its last four thunderous verses: "To find myself is to lose presence / with the precision of fire: as a continuous way / to say goodbye without returning strangers."