Great Women Jazz Singers: Nina Simone y su Hombre-Pecador
Posted: February 23, 2015 Filed under: English, Spanish | Tags: Black History Month, The Nina Project 2015 Comments Off on Great Women Jazz Singers: Nina Simone y su Hombre-Pecador
Nina Simone, 1933 to 2003_photographed in 1969 by Jack Robinson
Una canción firma-distintiva de Nina Simone…
Hombre-Pecador
(Letra: tradicional afroamericana, primeros años del siglo XX)
.
Ah, hombre-pecador, ¿adónde vas a escaparte?
Hombre-pecador, ¿adónde te fugas?
¿Adónde corres?
Todo en ese día.
.
Pues, corro a la peña – (escóndeme, te lo ruego.)
Sí, corro a la peña – (ay, escóndeme.)
Correré a esa peña – (Señor, escóndeme, por favor.)
Todo en ese día.
.
Pero, exclamó la peña: ¡no puedo esconderte!
La peña exclamó: ¡ah, no puedo esconderte!
Y la peña gritó: ¡no voy a esconderte, cuate!
Y pasará Todo – en Ese Día.
.
Dije:
¿Peña, qué te pasa?
¿No puedes ver que te necesito, mi Peña?
Señor, ay Señor,
Todo en ese día.
.
Pues, corrí al río – y estuvo sangrando.
Y corrí al mar – también estuvo sangrando
Ah sí, estuvo sangrando:
Y Todo pasó en ese día.
.
Pues el río, el mar – estuvieron hirviendo
Huí a los dos, pero ellos solo hirvieron.
Sí, huí a las aguas – y solo hirvieron
– y es lo que pasó en ese día.
.
Entonces, apuré al Señor y le rogué:
Escóndeme, por favor, te pido, Señor,
¿no me ves rozando, aquí abajo?
.
Pero Nuestro Señor me dijo:
¡Vete al Diablo!
(Sí, que yo debería irme al demonio…)
Vete al Diablo, Mi Señor me dijo,
Todo eso – en ese día.
.
Pues, fui derecho al Diablo
Y estuvo esperando.
Corré al Malo
– esperando para mí.
Sí, supo que llegué, y
Todo pasó en Ese Gran Día
.
Grito:
Poder, fuerza, energía…
Poder, fuerza, energía…
Gran poder con fuerza y energía…
– ¡Señor, métele!
Y digo:
Señor, ayúdame,
escóndeme, ayúdame.
Señor, escóndeme,
ayúdame, ayúdame…
Digo ésto, en este gran Día.
Y Él me dice:
Niño, ¿dónde estabas?
Quiero oír tu rezo.
Le digo:
¿Puedes oír mi rezo?
¡Oye mi rezo!
Estoy diciendo Todo – Todo durante El Gran Dia.
.
Poder, fuerza, energía
Poder, fuerza, energía
Poder, fuerza, energía
– Señor, ¡métele bien duro
sobre mi alma!
.
Poder poder poder poder…
¿No entiendes que te falto, Señor?
Oh sí, Señor, extraño a Tí,
Ah sí, Señor,
Ah sí.
. . .
The Nina Project highlights three award-winning, internationally-acclaimed African-Canadian vocalists – Jackie Richardson, Kellylee Evans and Shakura S’Aida – performing the music & lyrics of Nina Simone, (who would’ve turned 82 on February 21st, 2015.)
Few jazz vocalists have remained as relevant across the generations as Nina Simone. Her music is still played in its original form, and in dance/house tracks, plus everything in between!
What happens when three top-ranked vocalists, whose combined musical experience equals ninety-five years on stage, share their interpretation of Nina Simone?
Answer: The Nina Project!
Simone’s influence shows through their diverse performances…
Evans recently won a Juno for her Nina tribute album,
S’Aida performed a Simone tribute to a sold out audience, while
Richardson’s repertoire has included her favourite Nina songs for years.
Through three generations of Canadian Black entertainers,
The Nina Project shows how timeless, classic and sophisticated Simone was,
and how strongly her music prevails!
.
The Nina Project
February 23rd 2015 at the National Arts Centre, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada
(through Black Artists’ Networks in Dialogue)
.
Cantante canadiense Kellylee Evans con su versión de Hombre-Pecado:
http://youtu.be/NIrxMbVVrCY
. . .
Sinner Man
(20th-century African-American Traditional / Spiritual)
.
Oh sinner man, where you gonna run to?
Sinner man, where you gonna run to?
Where you gonna run to?
All on that day.
Well I run to the rock
Please hide me,
I run to the rock
Please hide me,
I run to the rock
Please hide me, Lord,
All on that day.
But the rock cried out
“I can’t hide you”
the rock cried out
“I can’t hide you”
the rock cried out
“I ain’t gonna hide you, guy,
All on that day.
I said, “Rock what’s the matter with you, rock?
Don’t you see I need you, rock?”
Lord, Lord, Lord
All on that day.
So I run to the river
It was bleedin’,
I run to the sea
It was bleedin’,
I run to the sea
It was bleedin’
All on that day.
So I run to the river, it was boilin’
I run to the sea, it was boilin’
I run to the sea, it was boilin’
All on that day.
So I run to the Lord
“Please hide me, Lord,
Don’t you see me prayin’ ?
Don’t you see me down here prayin’ ?”
But the Lord said, “Go to the Devil”
The Lord said, “Go to the Devil”
He said, “Go to the Devil”
All on that day.
So I ran to the Devil
He was waitin’
I ran to the Devil, he was waitin’
I ran to the Devil, he was waitin’
All on that day.
I cried, “Power, power
Power, power, power
Power, power, power…
Bring it down
Bring it down!
Power, power, power
Power, power, power
Power, power, power
Power, power, power
Power, power, power…
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah!
Oh, I run to the river
It was boilin’, I run to the sea
It was boilin’, I run to the sea
It was boilin’
All on that day.
So I ran to the Lord
I said, Lord hide me
Please hide me
Please help me,
All on that day.
He said, “Child, where were you?
When you are old and prayin'”
Said, “Lord lord, hear me prayin’
Lord Lord, hear me prayin’
Lord Lord, hear me prayin’ ”
All on that day.
Sinner man, you oughta be prayin’
Oughta be prayin’, sinner man
Oughta be prayin’
All on that day.
I cried, Power, power
Power, power, power
Power, power, power
Power, power, power
Power, power, power…
Bring it down
All down
All down!
Bring it down
Power, power, power
Power, power, Lord!
Don’t you know?
Don’t you know I need you Lord?
Don’t you know when I need you?
Don’t you know, ho ho ho, that I need you?
Power, power, power, Lord!!!
Nina Simone sang a 10-minute version of “Sinner Man” on her album Pastel Blues, recorded in 1965…
. . . . .
Great Women Jazz Singers: Nancy Wilson, “Estilista” de Jazz
Posted: February 23, 2015 Filed under: Spanish | Tags: Black History Month, El Mes de la Historia Afroamericana Comments Off on Great Women Jazz Singers: Nancy Wilson, “Estilista” de Jazz
Nancy Wilson en 1968_© Hulton-Deutsch Collection/CORBIS
Nancy Wilson: Estilista de la canción jazz: (n. 20 febrero 1937, Chillicothe, Ohio, EE.UU.)
.
La canción “firma distintiva” de su juventud…
En la Calle del Delfín Verde (compuesto en 1947):
(Música de Bronislaw Kaper, letras de Ned Washington)
.
¡Fue un bonito día, Cariño, cuando llegó el Amor
con la intención de quedarse!
La Calle del Delfín Verde proveyó el marco –
el marco de unas noches inolvidables…
.
Y, a través de estos momentos separados,
Se arraiga las memorias de Amor, aquí en mi corazón.
Cuando recuerdo el amor que descubrí,
puedo besar el suelo en la Calle del Delfín Verde!
. . .
Nancy Wilson cantando con el Quinteto de George Shearing (1961):
. . .
Letras en inglés:
On Green Dolphin Street
.
Lover, one lovely day
Love came planning to stay!
Green Dolphin Street supplied the setting,
The setting for nights beyond forgetting…
And, through these moments apart,
Memories live here in my heart!
When I recall the love I found
I could kiss the ground on Green Dolphin Street!
. . . . .
Great Women Jazz Instrumentalists + “Jazz” poems by Langston Hughes and Jayne Cortez
Posted: February 18, 2015 Filed under: English, Jayne Cortez, Langston Hughes | Tags: Black History Month Comments Off on Great Women Jazz Instrumentalists + “Jazz” poems by Langston Hughes and Jayne Cortez
Mary Lou Williams: jazz pianist, composer, arranger_1910 to 1981
Langston Hughes (1902-1967)
Juke Box Love Song
.
I could take the Harlem night
and wrap around you,
Take the neon lights and make a crown,
Take the Lenox Avenue buses,
Taxis, subways;
And for your love song tone their rumble down.
Take Harlem’s heartbeat,
Make a drumbeat,
Put it on a record, let it whirl;
And while we listen to it play,
Dance with you till day…
Dance with you, my sweet brown Harlem girl.
Clora Bryant, born 1927, playing trumpet in this 1954 photo
Langston Hughes
Life is Fine
.
I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn’t,
So I jumped in and sank.
I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn’t a-been so cold
I might’ve sunk and died.
But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!
.
I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.
.
I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn’t a-been so high
I might’ve jumped and died.
But it was High up there! It was high!
.
So since I’m still here livin’,
I guess I will live on.
I could’ve died for love–
But for livin’ I was born
.
Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry–
I’ll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.
Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!
. . .
Langston Hughes
Dream Variations
.
To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.
Then rest at cool evening
Beneath a tall tree
While night comes on gently,
Dark like me:
That is my dream!
.
To fling my arms wide
In the face of the sun,
Dance! Whirl! Whirl!
Till the quick day is done.
Rest at pale evening,
A tall, slim tree,
Night coming tenderly –
Black like me.
Dorothy Donegan_multi-style pianist, 1922 to 1998, shown here in 1989_photograph © Paul Bergen
Jayne Cortez (born Sallie Jayne Richardson, 1934-2012)
I am New York City
.
i am new york city
here is my brain of hot sauce
my tobacco teeth my
mattress of bedbug tongue
legs aparthand on chin
war on the roofinsults
pointed fingerspushcarts
my contraceptives all
look at my pelvis blushing
.
i am new york city of blood
police and fried pies
i rub my docks red with grenadine
and jelly madness in a flow of tokay
my huge skull of pigeons
my seance of peeping toms
my plaited ovaries excuse me
this is my grime my thigh of
steelspoons and toothpicks
i imitate no one
.
i am new york city
of the brown spit and soft tomatoes
give me my confetti of flesh
my marquee of false nipples
my sideshow of open beaks
in my nose of soot
in my ox bled eyes
in my ear of Saturday night specials
.
i eat ha ha hee hee and ho ho
i am new york city
never change never sleep never melt
my shoes are incognito
cadavers grow from my goatee
look i sparkle with shit with wishbones
my nickname is glue-me
.
take my face of stink bombs
my star spangled banner of hot dogs
take my beer can junta
my reptilian ass of footprints
and approach me through life
approach me through death
approach me through my widow’s peak
through my split ends my
asthmatic laughapproach me
through my wash rag
half anklehalf elbow
massage me with your camphor tears
salute the patina and concrete
of my rat tail wig
face upface downpiss
into the bite of our handshake
.
i am new york city
my skillet-head friend
my fat-bellied comrade
citizens
break wind with me
Dorothy Ashby, Jazz harpist and composer_1930 to 1986
Jayne Cortez
Make Ifa
.
MAKE IFA MAKE IFA MAKE IFA IFA IFA
In sanctified chalk
of my silver painted soot
In criss-crossing whelps
of my black belching smoke
In brass masking bones
of my bass droning moans
in hub cap bellow
of my hammer tap blow
In steel stance screech
of my zumbified flames
In electrified mouth
of my citified fumes
In bellified groan
of my countrified pound
In compulsivefied conga
of my soca moka jumbi
MAKE IFA MAKE IFA MAKE IFA IFA IFA
In eye popping punta
of my heat sucking sap
In cyclonic slobber
of my consultation pan
In snap jam combustion
of my banjoistic thumb
In sparkola flare
of my hoodoristic scream
In punched out ijuba
of my fire catching groove
In fungified funk
of my sambafied shakes
In amplified dents
of my petrified honks
In ping ponging bombs
of my scarified gongs
MAKE IFA MAKE IFA MAKE IFA IFA IFA
. . .
Editor’s Note: Ifa = a system of divination developed by the Yoruba of
Nigeria, based on the interpretation of cowrie shells tossed on a tray.
. . . . .
Picong: the verbal “duels” of calypsonians
Posted: February 16, 2015 Filed under: English, IMAGES | Tags: Black History Month: Picong in Calypso Comments Off on Picong: the verbal “duels” of calypsonians
Silhouette pen and ink by Bruce Patrick Jones_The Calypsonian Master wears many hats: Party inciter, social commentator, dueling wordsmith!
Picong or Ex-tempo, is light comical banter with music, usually performed at someone else’s expense. As part of the Trinidadian Calypso tradition, it’s a way in which West Indians (particularly those in the Eastern Caribbean) tease, heckle and mock each other – usually in a friendly manner. The line between humour and insult, though, may be a slender one, and often shifts; at times the convivial spirit may degenerate into more heated debate. So the ability to engage in picong without crossing over into rude insult is highly valued in the culture of calypso music.
The verbal duels between the The Mighty Sparrow and his friendly nemesis, Lord Melody, are the stuff of calypso legend, and the following 1957 ex-tempo session – a witty, improvised exchange of humorous insults – is a great example of the art of picong.
As they used to say in the old days: Santimanitay (Sans humanité)! Without mercy!
.
The Mighty Sparrow vs. Lord Melody (from the Emory Cook album “Calypso Kings and Pink Gin”, 1957):
http://youtu.be/7SdQuzKOFvw
. . .
Currently, an “Extempo King” (and sometimes a female “Monarch”) is crowned each year as part of the carnival in Trinidad. Recent crowned verbal acrobats have included King Black Sage, Lady Africa, Brian London, Abebele and Lingo, who is 2015 Carnival’s ex-tempo king.
Black History Month: Samba and Calypso
Posted: February 15, 2015 Filed under: English, IMAGES | Tags: Black History Month: Carnival in Brazil and Trinidad Comments Off on Black History Month: Samba and Calypso
Congo pepper – sliced, on ice!
Minus 24 degrees celsius this morning, here in Toronto…
February is, typically, our coldest month of the year, but today is exceptionally cold; a blue-blue sky and bright, though heat-less, sun, reflected on heaps of snow – do make this Sunday feel cheerful and upbeat. Yet we cannot help but long for warmer climes just now: Brazil, and Trinidad & Tobago, where Carnaval is already in full-Samba-swing, or where “ playing Mas’ ” to the latest Soca songs on Jouvert Morning (February 16th this year) is nearly upon us!
.
Click on the following links for Zocalo Poets’ Carnaval / Carnival features with poems and pictures!
.
.
.
Jorge Ben Jor: “Em fevereiro tem carnaval…” / “In February there’s Carnaval…”
.
.
. . . . .
Black History Month and Canada’s Flag (50th anniversary)
Posted: February 15, 2015 Filed under: English, IMAGES Comments Off on Black History Month and Canada’s Flag (50th anniversary)
On this day, the 50th anniversary of Canada’s Flag, we reflect on the contributions of Black people to Canadian society through elected or appointed office…
.
There is a journey of commitment and hard work for all those who choose public life, and Black Canadians have persevered – and excelled. From William Peyton Hubbard we reach Michael Thompson; from Zanana Akande we come to Margarett Best; from Keith Forde there is an unwavering line that leads to Devon Clunis.
Here are some Black “Firsts” in Canada:
.
Saint-Firmin Monestime (1909-1977): Haitian-born doctor and first Black mayor of a Canadian municipality (Mattawa, Ontario, 1964-1977)
.
Lincoln MacCauley Alexander (1922-2012): Toronto-born lawyer and elected first Black member of Canada’s federal parliament (1968-1980)
.
Leonard Austin Braithwaite (1923-2012): Born in Toronto of West-Indian parents, he was elected the first Black member of a Canadian provincial legislature (Ontario, 1963-1975).
.
Rosemary Brown (1930-2003): Jamaican-born Brown was the first Black woman elected to a Canadian provincial legislature (British Columbia, 1972-1986), and also the first Black woman (and only the second woman) to run for leadership of a Canadian federal political party (the NDP, in 1975).
.
Jean Augustine (born 1937, Grenada): In 1993 she was elected the first Black woman member of Canada’s federal parliament (1993-2006), and also the first to serve as a federal cabinet minister (2003).
.
Michaëlle Jean: Born in 1957, the Haitian-Montrealer was the first Black Governor-General of Canada (2005-2010).
. . . . .
Black History Month: Love Poems for the Belovéd; for God; for a Child
Posted: February 14, 2015 Filed under: English, Eric Merton Roach, Esther Phillips, Gladys Waterberg, Kendel Hippolyte, Margaret D. Gill, Mervyn Morris, R.L.C. McFarlane | Tags: Black History Month: Love Poems, Día del Amor y la Amistad Comments Off on Black History Month: Love Poems for the Belovéd; for God; for a Child
Eric Merton Roach (1915-1974, Trinidad and Tobago)
A Lover Speaks (1948)
.
Climb up a rainbow’s arch
And be arrayed in all that loveliness;
Be gilded as a sunset cloud
Or take the moon’s soft radiance for gown
And the great stars for diamonds,
Be costumed like a queen in cloth of gold
And all the earth’s rare and famous finery,
Be what you will for I am fancy free.
.
Become all legend beauty,
The glorious goddess from Olympus leaping,
Contested Helen or the Pharaoh queen,
Isolde or Deidre,
All that fair company that pass
In love and sorrow down the corridors
Of rhyme and story.
Be what you will for I am fancy free.
.
But, when your bright imaginings shall end
And you are your black hair,
Black eyes, deep lips and dark complexion;
When you are native to this time and island,
Attractive in the streets and gay and graceful,
Your beauty maddening in the moment’s dusk,
Your Naiad nakedness in the clean sea;
When you are you
Then shall my fancy not be free
But slave and bound to what I love to see.
. . .
Eric Merton Roach
Song
.
Buy her wine and roses,
gladden her laughter,
tell her she’s legend
like Ledas daughter,
a boldly made beauty
aching the eye, Isis, Astarte.
.
But never ask her
of hearts that keep honour,
puritan modes,
ethics and codes.
Cords that should bind her
to one bed
crumble in
her passionate blood.
.
To the body only
that ripe beauty,
golden as honey
hum your canzone.
. . .
R. L. C. McFarlane (born 1925, Jamaica)
O Girl, How Should I Tell You
.
O girl, how should I tell you how
You shatter all philosophy,
And melt the hardened theory,
And lay the walls of reason low?
.
For so I yield within an hour
The strength that I had wrought with pain,
And am become a fool again,
Colonial to an alien power,
.
Seeking the furtherance of my being
Within another’s happiness;
Enwombed in utter helplessness
– Blank days that jump the time for freeing.
.
No, stand apart and keep your state
Free of my tribute, lest we prove
How in the curious knot of love
The mind conceals a knife of hate.
. . .
Mervyn Morris (born 1937, Jamaica)
Love-Story
.
Love gave her eyes:
the tough man snatched,
locked them up tight.
.
Love gave her hand:
the tough man tickled it
early one night.
.
Love gave her tongue:
the tough man found
it tasted right.
.
Love gave her body:
the tough man smiled,
switched off the light.
.
Love gave her heart:
the tough man fled,
flaccid with fright.
. . .
Esther Phillips (born 1950, Barbados)
Guilt
.
Between the silent Seraphim,
Wings overarching me,
I kneel before Your Mercy Seat.
.
Oh, do not speak, I fear
Your anger; I cannot bear
The censure in Your voice.
.
Commune with me,
Your great Heart to
My trembling heart.
.
Feel my love torn,
The greater portion Yours
And still shall always be.
.
The rest is his, and he
And I are flesh – eyes, lips,
Hands and thighs, and sweetness.
.
Do not forsake me,
Oh, do not cast me off!
Was it for love You died
That I might live
– And love?
. . .
Esther Phillips
Night Errant
.
You hate the ignoble
thing, the unworthy.
You believe man is
the measure (despite
your brilliance.)
So when the wolf rips
the night open,
the night you had so drawn
with soft colours,
you deny, you deny,
you deny.
And the creature,
on cue, disappears;
the air, snarled, lies
heavy between us.
.
I’ve not much use
for a cerebral-shaped heart
nurtured on some one-eyed
philosophy.
.
Love me with your own
heart hoarding the traitor,
the rough rage, your un-
certain compassion.
. . .
Kendel Hippolyte (born 1952, Saint Lucia)
Mamoyi
.
The child is sleeping,
folded in among the brown boughs of my arms,
and a promise, formed beyond language, drawn upward
like sap through a pith, stirs through me.
In its slow course, I feel a vow so deep
it does not reach the flower and fade of word
but leaves me steeped, resined, in its truth.
Because I wish this child, awake, a man,
to know that he can keep, lifelong,
the trust, the self-astonishing joy that he has now
and he can draw from them the strength to make
his true path from the place I am
to where he will become, for his own child, a tree,
I vow: these boughs will never break.
. . .
Margaret D. Gill (born 1953, Barbados)
I want to make you cry tonight
.
I want to make you
cry tonight
I want to shake you
and break you
and take you apart and then –
want to create you
tonight
.
To begin you
And sing you
And bring you
to
where
(if you care to)
They say heaven is
heaven is
heaven is.
.
I want to make you
cry tonight
Like a big ole man child.
Shall I liberate you from all that holding in and
holding on and
self sufficient?
I may not succeed now! But
I shall certainly try –
cry
cry, cry
cry (it’s good for you).
. . .
Gladys Waterberg (born 1959, Surinam)
Poem
.
Never before
the past
has been
such a
great future dream
than
when I met you
the first time
and wished
that the future
would never
become part
of the past.
. . .
More Love Poems at ZP:
“And Don’t Think I Won’t Be Waiting”: Love poems by Audre Lorde
.
Melvin Dixon as translator: a handful of “love letter” poems by Léopold Sédar Senghor
.
“Baby, I’m for real”: Black-American Gay poets from a generation ago
. . . . .
Won’t You Be Our Valentine? Five Beautiful Women & Five Beautiful Men / ¿Quieres ser nuestra/o enamorada/o? Cinco bellas mujeres y cinco bellos hombres
Posted: February 14, 2015 Filed under: IMAGES | Tags: Día de San Valentín, Valentine's Day Comments Off on Won’t You Be Our Valentine? Five Beautiful Women & Five Beautiful Men / ¿Quieres ser nuestra/o enamorada/o? Cinco bellas mujeres y cinco bellos hombres. . . . .
Marvin Gaye (1939-1984)
.
Don Cheadle (born 1964)
.
James Todd Smith (L. L. Cool J., born 1968)
.
John Amaechi (born 1970)
.
.
Shemar Moore (born 1970)
. . . . .
Anna Mae Bullock (Tina Turner, born 1939)
.
Alfre Woodard (born 1952)
.
Helen Folasade Adu (Sade, born 1959)
.
Vanessa Williams (born 1963)
.
Dana Elaine Owens (Queen Latifah, born 1970)
. . . . .
Manuel Iris: poemas inspirados por Jazz (Davis y Monk) – con Gabriel Okara
Posted: February 10, 2015 Filed under: English, Gabriel Okara, Spanish Comments Off on Manuel Iris: poemas inspirados por Jazz (Davis y Monk) – con Gabriel Okara
Manuel Iris (México, nacido 1983, poeta yucateco / ganador del Premio Nacional de Poesía, Mérida, 2009)
[ de su poemario Overnight Medley (ARC Edições, Brasil, 2014) ]
Escrito en Oquedad
I fall in love too easily / Me enamoro tan fácilmente (versión de Miles Davis, 1963)
.
Afuera, corazón
quédate afuera
.
no nades en mi pecho
.
tuércete
respira
como pez fuera del mar
pero también de ella
.
no mueras, sin embargo
y calla
no renuncies
.
aprende a consumirte
y no solloces
.
duerme.
.
Afuera, corazón
quédate afuera
.
no vengas a buscarla.
. . .
La canción jazz que incentiva…
.
I fall in love too easily, I fall in love too fast;
I fall in love too terribly hard for love to ever last!
My heart should be well schooled, ’cause I’ve been fooled in the past…
And still: I fall in love too easily, I fall in love too fast.
.
I fall in love too easily, I fall in love too fast;
I fall in love too terribly hard, for love to ever last!
My heart should be well schooled, ’cause I’ve been fooled in the past…
And still: I fall in love too easily, I fall in love too fast.
.
[Julie Styne & Sammy Cahn, 1945]
. . .
Me enamoro – de golpe y sopetón,
Me enamoro apresuradamente;
Sí, caigo en Amor tan terriblemente duro
que no pueda persistir el arranque de pasión.
Mi corazón ya debe ser bien educado
Porque yo he sido engañado en el pasado;
Y todavía, me enamoro fácilmente,
¡Hey presto, caigo en Amor!
.
[Compositor y Letrista: Julie Styne y Sammy Cahn, 1945]
.
[ I fall in love too easily: del álbum Seven Steps to Heaven, grabado en 1963 por el “new” Miles Davis Quintet ]
. . .
Gabriel Okara (Nigeria, born 1921)
Piano and Drums
.
When at break of day at a riverside
I hear the jungle drums telegraphing
the mystic rhythm, urgent, raw,
like bleeding flesh, speaking of
primal youth and the beginning,
I see the panther ready to pounce,
the leopard snarling, about to leap,
and the hunters crouch with spears poised;
.
And my blood ripples, turns torrent,
topples the years, and at once I’m
in my mother’s laps – a suckling;
at once I’m walking simple
paths with no innovations,
rugged, fashioned with the naked
warmth of hurrying feet and groping hearts,
in green leaves and wild flowers pulsing.
.
Then I hear a wailing piano
solo, speaking of complex ways in
tear-furrowed concerto;
of faraway lands
and new horizons, with
coaxing diminuendo, counterpoint,
crescendo. But lost in the labyrinth
of its complexities, it ends in the middle
of a phrase – at a daggerpoint.
.
And I am lost in the morning mist
of an age at a riverside;
keep wandering in the mystic rhythm
of jungle drums – and the concerto…
. . .
Manuel Iris
Round Midnight
.
“And I am lost in the morning mist
of an age at a riverside; keep
wandering in the mystic rhythm
of jungle drums – and the concerto…”
[Gabriel Okara, Piano and drums]
.
El Arquitecto calla, piensa. Planea
juntar las puntas de la media noche
para hacer de nuevo el puente
entre tu voz y tu verdad primera.
.
El inicio es torpe. Borro y escribo:
Thelonius Monk ató puntas de la media noche
para tender la melodía que funciona
como puente de tu voz
al grito primigenio.
.
Acaso ha mejorado. Sigo escribiendo pero entonces apareces. Entras al cuarto y a pesar de que te veo de frente, prefiero la otra imagen que hay en el espejo, la variación del vidrio boquiabierto junto a ti.
.
Me detiene boquiabierto: evidente efectismo. Pongo de nuevo esa canción del Arquitecto y dejo que te vayas. Continúo:
.
Thelonius Monk ha atado los extremos de la media noche
para iniciar la variación de los andamios
que se alargan de tu hablar
a tu gemir de orgasmo al primitivo
tiempo de los otros los pre-humanos
que se aman contemplando el fuego.
.
Thelonius Monk armó la media noche circular
y entonces la ternura más rudimentaria
se apropió de ti te convirtió en la imagen
del primer amor que es casi el eufemismo
de quedar en celo es casi ronda casi
día siguiente…
La canción termina pero alguna variación es todavía posible. Callo. Imagino al arquitecto componiendo partituras que sirven nada más para salir o para entrar en ellas. Pongo play:
.
…pensaba
unir las puntas de la media noche
y la ternura más homínida posible
el más elemental amor te vio las manos
y pensó en dejarlas en la piedra para siempre
en invocarte como a la cacería y te volvió rupestre
y te dejó en la cueva del amor original
del eufemismo de quedar en celo
de ser Thelonius Monk haciendo los andamios
que se alargan de tu voz a los aullidos de tu risa
hacia el temblor de orgasmo
y vas del piano al tambor y vas también
en dirección contraria.
Caigo en cuenta
de que el puente es una forma de la eternidad
que el Arquitecto escribe los reflejos de tu rostro
cuando entras por la puerta tu precisa variación
tus puntos tus momentos de llegada
o de partida.
. . .
[ ‘Round Midnight: del álbum Misterioso, grabado en 1958 por Thelonius Monk ]
. . . . .
Toronto Reggae History Project: 1972-1987
Posted: February 10, 2015 Filed under: IMAGES | Tags: Black History Month Comments Off on Toronto Reggae History Project: 1972-1987
Stranger Cole in Toronto…
Visit Reggae Toronto at
http://reggaetoronto.com/
Zócalo Poets 