durations of flamenco
by strannikov
yes! folks risk seas as needs arise
walk worlds entire under moons
from between two lands to between two seas.
Zyryab stirred hot earth and found hot roots
his strings tuned to sustain pitched
strumming fury to elicit hot heat.
a five-stringed oud if it were
some of Baghdad's fierce spare heat
carried in Zyryab's oud to Córdoba
to the Umayyads of al-Andalus.
his songs sank their roots in the hot dirt
whose thirst fed the hungry roots
not only across his decades and years:
his memory his children his school
his folks sang his songs till death
their children sang his songs until they died.
through centuries beyond a thousand years
songs in living voices sing—
these songs still live: folks play them
till (singing, playing) they find time to die.
(torrents of rhythms each other chase—
the depths at which these roots swim in hot dirt!
what these roots extract from shimmering depths!
whatever we conjure in earthly grace
lives in these records of solace and grief
voice emerging from long memory's speech.
rigors of discipline met where they lead
shoulders in wild balance sequence of hands
memory's centuries voice found in voice—
furious flurries flying to beyond—
no departures from decorum poise found here.)
his music spills deep inside hot lives
no matter the worlds or seas.
you hear? cataracts of rhythms now roar
now hush to voices of clapping palms
to anvils hammered with heels
to burning blood pouring through all who play
no more proud than any horse
thousands of hot days of songs
songs from fears wonders beauties hungers pain:
thus are lands and souls strummed from age to age.
every clap each heel every chord each note
stolen from death—music tuned to lived life
thieving from death time for perception poise
skill and memory for throats fingers feet
all from hot earth that gave birth to them all
and each—all who play clap sing dance each one
who thrills to hear see feel this music of hot
blood pulsing hot through every moment alive—
thus is life conjured with music: human life
with human music human souls human earth,
hot souls the cherished fruit of the hot earth beneath.
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Author's Note
This made its debut in August 2020 at Literati Magazine (renewed thanks to Amantine B.).
As Amantine provided the context, this came of the Paco de Lucía composition "Ziryab", as performed in Sevilla in 1992 with José M. Bandera Sánchez and Juan M. Cañizares:
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A pivotal moment in my life was hearing for the first time - Friday Night in San Francisco - a 1981 recording of a live concert with Al Di Meola, John McLaughlin, and Paco de Lucia. Amazing music.
The music in these lines is weighted and effective - quite muscular in terms of power and not force. Lines can force themselves; these don't. These lines carry their own strength - and its a sound that rings true, not false. Music first, meaning second.
"yes! folks risk seas as needs arise
walk worlds entire under moons
from between two lands to between two seas."
&
the depths at which these roots swim in hot dirt!
what these roots extract from shimmering depths!
whatever we conjure in earthly grace
lives in these records of solace and grief"
&
"you hear? cataracts of rhythms now roar
now hush to voices of clapping palms
to anvils hammered with heels
to burning blood pouring through all who play"
&
"every clap each heel every chord each note
stolen from death—music tuned to lived life
thieving from death time for perception poise
skill and memory for throats fingers feet"
The same feeling I have reading this piece is the same as viewing Tarkovsky's Andrei Rublev or Bergman's The Seventh Seal ... or sketches by Goya ... or listening to Miles Davis, Sketches of Spain.
Intricate.
Impossible to separate dancer from musician from music.
Nicely done, Edward. One of your best, I think.
*
Am thrilled to see this piece here ed; it was a pleasure to host you in Literati Magazine; always will be, A
Beautiful, Mr. Strannikov!
The passion!
"human life
with human music human souls human earth,
hot souls the cherished fruit of the hot earth beneath."
Pretty cool stuff, my friend.
Beautiful!
Sam: many thanks!
Truly, any music lurking in these lines came from Paco & friends: no way was I able to measure them with any actual flamenco rhythms, but the conception and execution came from/out of that ten-minute performance in Sevilla--a fantastic concert with several excellent performances, solos, duos, and trios.
(My earnest wish remains that the piece could work somehow in Spanish.)
Any comparison with Tarkovsky's Andrei Rublev is sobering, so consider me unintoxicated. (--and I could not begin to say what I may have gained from Goya's "Los Caprichos".)
Many thanks again, Sam, stay well and keep up all good work.
Amantine: grazie, grazie, grazie.
--and thank you again for hosting the piece at Literati Magazine, with the exact accompaniment from the '92 concert in Sevilla--not that I can insist they go together, but the latter derives from the former, certo.
Thank you again, do stay well, and keep up all good work.
Dianne: many, many thanks.
The intensities and appeals of flamenco are contagious and communicable, si oui ja da and yes!
Thank you again, do stay well, and keep up all good work.
Darryl: grazie, grazie, i grazie.
Paco's soaring guitar gives wings, I'm obliged to say, his was a very rich gift.
Thank you again, do stay well, and keep up all good work.
Agnes: thank you, thank you, and thank you!
I've barely begin to dabble in flamenco, but even from a distance it's easy to see how much wealth and depth the tradition possesses and to hear how readily it can unroll itself.
Thank you again, do stay well, and keep up all good work.