Jim Steinmeyer has a wonderful text called "Reminding Not deceiving", ie "Remember, do not cheat." That, he says, is a function of magic: to awaken people, do give an account of the wonderful things around us do recover 'the sense of wonder' as stated also that other genius, René Lavand.

Related to this, John Carney once told me:

"... After that, the aim of magic may be surprised and get people out of their complacency. We take too much to be guaranteed. Do not you think about how the phones, satellite television or airplanes work, just accept it. We cease to amaze. Especially in a society where things change all the time. As the author Alvin Toffler, "while technology advances, we are accelerating." We can not stop and try to understand things, so that, as an attitude of self-defense, as if we understood everything we do, or at least accept everything in its most rudimentary.

The magic well done it makes people stop and realize. Even if it's something as simple as turning a card for another. "

Borges, for his part, noted that: "Joseph Conrad could write of his work excluding the supernatural, because admit it seemed to deny that the everyday was wonderful"

In some ways, the art of combining daily events and build something new, the expertise to transform the ordinary into something beautiful is also the art of poetry. As I always say, you can say: "The Gauchos did not believe in God, were brave and so was and will always" or you can say "God was far away / professed the old faith and courage iron / that does not include appeals or perquisites / by that faith died and killed "

We then, again, a bond between magicians with poets. We help the public to remember the power of wonder, to understand that everyday life can be wonderful. That perhaps only has to look at a different point of view, or simply pay attention.

OLIVER Gironde, humble beauty described as common and inevitable as night. It does so in "Nocturne" a poem found in "Twenty Poems to be read on a streetcar."

Coolness of glass to support the front window.
Outdated lights that let us off even more alone.
Wires woven web that rooftop.
Trot Hollow of hacks that pass and move us without reason.

What makes us remember the howling of cats in heat
and what the intention of the paper
crawling in the empty courtyard?

Time when the leverage to pull out old furniture lies,
and that the pipes have strangled cries,
as if they suffocated inside the walls.

It is sometimes thought,
when turning the key electricity
feel the fear that shadows
and would like to warn
for they had time to huddle in the corners.

And sometimes crosses the telephone poles,
rooftop,
have something sinister
and one would rub against the walls,
like a cat or a thief.

Nights we would like
we pass a hand through his back,
and they suddenly understand
no comparable tenderness
petting the little sleeper.