2 August 2009. Autumn approaching. Yesterday--dear Gabryela's birthday, Warszawa. Pierwszy Sierpien´--day of the powstanie, the Warsaw Uprising, from a quarter of a century before.
As with the palm--a rebirth. Rosita Quiroga, seated against a backdrop of empty wooden chairs--Thonet, Loos, Mitteleuropa... but here it's Puente Alsina, and the old Buenos Aires--Riachuelo, La Boca... "Donde está mi barrio--mi cuna querida...?"
"...nuestros vecinos eran los Quinquela Martín. Cantaba milongas, estilos, zambas, vidalas... Después me incliné al tango--pero el tango arrebalero..." "Y quantos años tiene?" "Pero ché, me estas embromando... Soy tan vieja como la biblia... Pero si, puedo cantar este tango..."
Pensamientos insoslayabales...
* * *
"My neighborhood--where is it--my cradle, the one I love...?"
"Our neighbors were the family of (painter) Quinquela Martín. I was singing milongas, estilos, zambas, vidalas. Afterwards I was drawn to the tango--but the tango arrebalera (tango of the outer districts, the rough periphery). "And how old are you now?" "but che, you're joking with me. I'm as old as the Bible... But yes, I can still sing this tango..."
Thoughts, unavoidable...
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