29 February 2008. Gray morning, mist. Night of moans, oh lord, oh lord. Courtyard of dreams, rooms and doors, each one the same, no path, no sign, no key. Pero la carga viene--de Lucio Mansilla--un nublecito marrón, en la distancia. Ojos como lince, lo fije de múy lejos... Azulejos, azulejos.....
Courtyard in Spain, Morón de la Frontera, August 1965. Narrow winding streets, led by boy on bicycle to an arching gate--opening onto simple sky-covered patio, the wide Andalucian blue. A gentleman appears, white shirt, múy formal--this is Diego--we sit on small cane-woven village chairs, talk. Questions about Chet, Esteban--los amigos Americanos... His eyes, intelligent, reserved...todo eso por el cante...holding all for song...
Ansonini, Joselero, la Fernanda...
The key--acompañamiento, always a response. La alma viene, siempre viene, desde dientro...
No comments:
Post a Comment