Dec 21, 2020
Everyday stories #7
An old guitar is a tree
And don’t forget to bloom
An old guitar is a tree
grew up on the bank of a river.
Nothing is foreign to her
she resonates with anger
of the oppressed
heart
delicacy
herons in flight
paths of Cassiopeia
the penultimate note of existence.
An old guitar is a tree
grew up on the bank of a river.
She doesn’t forget to bloom
whenever necessary.
Flowing water is sound
and sound consumes wood
and springs
from wood a calm solar light
that blends with water.
So I,
consumed by time,
I am wood and water and light,
and I have no destiny
if not that of love
that I’m going to embrace.
There were also legendary times.
Men didn’t challenge each other
with guns, or fists, or cards.
The men faced each other in the guitarratas*.
And the guitarratas
they weren’t astonishing feats of acrobatic guitarists
in taverns where everyone got drunk
and clapped their hands in time.
They weren’t two stools,
stand facing each other,
and well-arpeggiated phrygian scales
and empty glasses forgotten on the tables.
The guitarratas had the mission
to bring fire to the earth.
And then indestructible guitars were needed.
And blessed beer.
And vertigo,
courage, ecstasy and wisdom.
That perfect blend
of shadow and light
that you can call
inspiration.
Guitarratas: it’s a made-up word, all Spanish-speaking readers will excuse me!
Paco De Lucia,
guitarist,
he was born Francisco Sanchez Gomez on 21 December 1947.
“Yo soy como un río,
que paro un ratito donde la corriente me deja un remanso.
Luego, dejo que la corriente tire de mí”
