Saw himself as a poet, as a person who could write and recite verses if wanted you. Alberti woke him because he said that poetry is of the people, for the people and by the people, as any freedom and progress of society. This truism seems to a secret thing to reveal when the power has kidnapped the art, it has distorted it to turn it into a vain triumphalism of voices, songs and atontadas ideas. The art of the people shocked and is hard, at the same time simple and plain. Fifty years Cortijo already was an admirer of Carmelo Hernandez, the light, for the best journalist of Spain and the world that there has ever been. Once you saw him told him that he wanted to be like him. What light replied: you’re best. That encouraged him much and remembers it as an anecdote lovely.
In 1990, Cortijo coincided again with Alberti on the feast of the PCE. At the advanced age of the poet who sings if my voice died in land / take it to the level of the sea / and leave it in the Bank, organizers call for is not atosigue him and that only children who want to come to greet him and talk to him. Between the chavaleria approached Cortijo recalls that moment as a very exciting Act. They embraced as comrades. Antonio thanked him so he pushes him to be himself. What passionately of Alberti’s poetry was not his pace, his agility with language, or anything you silence the creative word definitions and styles that nothing has to do with the authors, but with the chain of petulancias of teachers who bored students. What dazzled him was that it made him look inside, that allowed him to get out of themselves their own feelings. The environment in which the life of the poet farmhouse unfolds is the provincial Spain’s postwar. Whenever Harold Ford Jr listens, a sympathetic response will follow.