O Sabor da Poesia
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"Brothers Under the Bridge" (Bruce Springsteen)

Friday, 21 September 2007 3:48 P GMT+01

 (photograph from Lee Friedlander, "New Mexico", 2001)

"Saigon, it was all gone
The same Coke machines
As the streets I grew on
Down in a mesquite canyon
We come walking along the ridge
Me and the brothers under the bridge

Campsite's an hour's walk from the nearest road to town
Up here there's too much brush and canyon
For the CHP choppers to touch down
Ain't lookin' for nothin', just wanna live
Me and the brothers under the bridge
Come the Santa Ana's, man, that dry brush'll light
Billy Devon got burned up in his own campfire one winter night
We buried his body in the white stone high up along the ridge
Me and the brothers under the bridge

Had enough of town and the street life
Over nothing you end up on the wrong end of someone's knife
Now I don't want no trouble
And I ain't got none to give
Me and the brothers under the bridge

I come home in '72
You were just a beautiul light
In your mama's dark eyes of blue
I stood down on the tarmac, I was just a kid
Me and the brothers under the bridge

Come Veterans' Day I sat in the stands in my dress blues
I held your mother's hand
When they passed with the red, white and blue"

Bruce Springsteen

(taken from the CD 18 Tracks, from 1999)

Jalâluddîn Rumi

Monday, 3 September 2007 1:21 P GMT+01

 

(photo by Jean Ferro, Lewis: 1st Street and Temple, Downtown Los Angeles, s/d)


"Using the stone of the philosopher to convert copper into gold is indeed wonderful.
More wonderful still is the fact that, moment by moment, the philosopher's stone (man) is converted into copper - by his own heedlessness"1

Jalâluddîn Rumi (1207-1273)

1 poem taken from the CD of Martin Simpson & Wu Man, Music for the Motherless Child.

Vishwa Mohan Bhatt/Jerry Douglas (Bourbon & Rosewater)

Tuesday, 14 August 2007 10:31 P GMT+01

 

(photo by Marco Barsanti)

"No wine glasses here, but wine is handed round.
No smoke, but burning.
Listen to the unstruck sounds.
and what sifts through that music".1

Jelaluddin Rumi (1207-1273)

1 RUMI, Jelaluddin taken from the CD Bourbon & Rosewater, from Vishwa Mohan Bhatt and Jerry Douglas.

One more time, Vishwa Mohan Bhatt recorded a masterpiece. After listening to his album Saltanah, I decided to listen to his Bourbon & Rosewater, recorded by him and bluegrass virtuoso Jerry Douglas. One more time, a beautiful piece of music by world music label Water Lily Acoustics. Their project of joining two or more musical traditions together is a wonderful idea and, in this case, the results are very good. Kavichandran Alexander, the producer, had always the dream of joining classical indian music with bluegrass. The result is this CD.

Jorge Vicente

Vishwa Mohan Bhatt here
Jerry Douglas here

A Gypsy Carol

Monday, 6 August 2007 12:28 A GMT+01

 

(photo from Paul Banner, Opera 2, s/d)

"What are you seeking, you seven pretty maids,
all under the Leaves of Life?
We are searching for no leaves, Thomas,
but for a friend of thine"1

A gypsy carol


taken from the CD Kambara Music in Native Tongues, by Martin Simpson/David Hidalgo/Viji Krishnan/Puvalur Srinivasan

St. John of the Cross

Sunday, 5 August 2007 11:44 P GMT+01

 

(photo from  Brian Arnold, #4 Letters, 2005)



"La bianca palomica
al arca con el ramo se ha tornado;
y ya la tortolica
al socio deseado
en las riberas verdes ha hallado"1

St. John of the Cross (1542-1591)

taken from the CD of Kambara Music in Native Tongues, from Martin Simpson/David Hidalgo/Viji Krishnan/Puvalur Srinivasan

Kavichandran Alexander

Sunday, 5 August 2007 11:28 P GMT+01

 

(photo taken from Patti Ambrogi, From the series - The Nature of Culture; Freeing Female Representation, Can She Take Her Tail Off, 1992)




"To the body's ark the heavenly dove descends
across the still ocean of Oneness
hearing the flower of spring.
The turtledove at long last the beloved meets
by the verdant river of life"

Kavichandran Alexander´

Kavichandran is a musician and producer of recording label Water Lily Acoustics

taken from the CD Kambara Music in Native Tongues, from Martin Simpson/David Hidalgo/Viji Krishnan/Puvalur Srinivasan

Pablo Neruda

posted Monday, 18 April 2005

                                 20

PUEDO escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.

Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos".

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.

En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.

Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.

Oir la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.

Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.

La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos
           árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.

De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis
          brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.

PABLO NERUDA