"Yes: in my second year of ESO I started / speaking Spanish / because the Catalans didn't get it / and because, as Sylvia Plath said, / every woman adores a fascist", writes Maria Sevilla Paris (Badalona, 1990) in one of the poems in Sylvia Plath, / every woman adores a fascist", writes Maria Sevilla Paris (Badalona, 1990) in one of the poems in Ni una o l'oposada flor (Arrebato Libros). On the left pages we read the original poems in Catalan. On the right, the Spanish version, which often becomes a transformative game, by Juan Andrés García Román and the author. Ni una o l'oposada flor explains, in a ductile and precise language, Sevilla's devotion to animals, plants, and all sorts of living organisms –including men–, while at the same time reflecting on her relationship with Catalan, which, although not the language her parents spoke to each other, has become her usual language, a professional tool – she is an associate professor at the University of Barcelona and runs workshops at the Casal dels Infants in Raval – and a vehicle for artistic expression, which has so far resulted in half a dozen books, including Dents de polpa (AdiA edicions, 2015), Plastilina (Fonoll, 2021), and La nit ovípara (Documents Documenta, 2024).

If you arrive at the Ateneu Barcelonès and are greeted by a large head with the wrinkled face of Josep Carner, it is the unmistakable sign that only good, different, and exciting things can happen that evening. "Today we will be guided by the most important and one of the most overlooked institutions in our lives: chance," proclaimed the poet and rapper Oriol Sauleda at the beginning of the show The square root, a production by La Clota Cooperativa that is a heterogeneous collage of artistic actions that included readings by Enric Casasses, Maria Sevilla, and Júlia Bacardit, a fencing duel between Modernists and Novecentists, sonic actions by Xavi Lloses, and even a small session of choral gymnastics to the rhythm of a violinist from the Riba Orquestra.