The musicologist

Having a musician guest for a couple of days, reminds me of a time of always having color and life music in the house. He plays the guitar, banjo and the dulcimer, sings in a high almost falsetto voice in some old haunting songs. This time he brought the gentle melancholic sound of the dulcimer to my place, since he is putting a book together for his dulcimer classes in traditional music. The Ebony Hillbillies just played Carnegie Hall before he came over here. During their performances - you can catch them also in the New York Metro - they talk about the origin of the instruments and black American music. Today he instructs me about beat an offbeat, the banjo being African and we listen to Bach and Desert Blues, music from the Sahara en Central Africa. It is gray and raining, yet with conversation and music, the blues lover feels good. The musicologist on his lap is a big fan, the painting by his friend Tony Mafia.

Strawberry sweets

Reading ‘Winter in the Blood’ by James Welch over breakfast in my favorite patisserie in this monthly city, a family of Germans marches in: grandparents and a teenage granddaughter. Ordering, grandpa stumbles over ‘Pfefferminz Thee’. From my corner outpost I volunteer thé menthe, infusion à la menthe… Grateful, he proceeds to tell me how his trip was, enumerates German and French great men, explains his feelings about the eastward enlargement of the European Union and the fears that plague him, having twelve new countries joining the EU in such a short time. Now the conversation is all in German. Upon leaving for a day exploring the town and some touristy activities, he walks up to my table and in the gentlest way puts three strawberry sweets next to my plate. Mistaking me for French he explains: “A symbolic gesture for French/German twinning. France and Germany are the heart of Europe, so this is for ‘une entente cordiale’… “ I smile and I say: yes for cordial understanding in the whole world.

Gatherings and goodbyes for now

On the way to work this week I saw a little girl with dirty naked feet, a lady on a bench painting her face, three boys jumping off a bridge and swimming away. Also I noticed the water was flowing to its meeting point with other waters faster than I was walking; yet I arrived in time for a gathering for a friend and colleague. In our job sometimes for weeks or months even within the same language unit, one doesn’t run into each other, and often disasters in another’s life go unnoticed. This dear friend had been retired for a while and other mishaps had befallen her. She is strong enough now to face us all. It was a moving affair, since we all know how difficult it is to keep in touch. Without traffic jams we live three and a half hour away from each other. When in Arizona, that doesn’t bother me. In Europe I am three countries further down when I arrive. Our friendship grew on the half hour walks from work to the center of town. So we had a chance to talk about anything, not just shop. She is a sensitive, strong soul, working for migrant women, being a Portuguese migrant herself, throwing herself into the folk dancing from her country; also she is a specialist in old Roman mosaics… The wine flows easily, the fish is fresh and tasty, the company is warm and accommodating to the two only guests who do not share the language of the evening. In each new set of people we have to find the common language that is most comfortable to all. With the Portuguese the atmosphere is warm and the speeches flow easily and heartfelt. I’ll miss the sparkle in her eyes, and am grateful that she is part of my collection of strange souls…

Paradise

Paradise is an old Persian word, meaning walled garden, described as lush, with trees for shade and abundant water. The garden should comprise a reference to the four streams that define the cradle of our civilization and a fountain. An enclosed garden, orto chiuso, a place of serenity where the only word spoken is said to be ‘peace’.
I get the image yet I rebel: paradise as a gated community with a water feature? As a private golf course near Palm Springs or Phoenix where abundant water is used even if it is not available? Shouldn’t Paradise be an open place with always a person there welcoming arriving strangers with just one word: Peace.
For the time being, and still wandering, wondering I say: Willkomen, Welcome, Ben venuti, Bien venue, Welkom, blij je te zien. Come and on the road to paradise carry peace in your heart, in your hands and your head…

Royal Blue

Last night a tribute to a neo-realist poet was held in the prettiest theater in town. It was a strange hybrid affair. I have read the work of most of the participating poets and a few were new to me: thus an interesting mix. The young poetess known for three words ‘fucking white rabbits’ had a few other interesting images. So let’s not be too harsh on her. The guy introduced as the slam poetry champion of Holland, a performer, and a tiger on stage, to me seemed a droning bore. The clever word games he had on offer I have heard in the sixties and better. The widow of 10 years never has been a favorite writer of mine. So I let compassion reign since I try to practice ahimsa, which is not to hurt any living thing. I have a problem with this tribute: a mausoleum was being build in which also the living were entombed. It would have been a bleak affair in comparison to Goddamn! the sparkling, creative tribute to Nina Simone, if it weren’t for Alfred Schaffer and Gert Vlok Nel. Schaffer is an Antillean poet describing in the gentlest, coolest, borderline perturbing way the anti-terrorist measures in Holland through his colored eyes. ‘More than I can say’ is a cleverly placed repeat phrase. And then the real cathartic discovery Gert Vlok Nel, South African, speaking and singing about loss and love, friendship and the road, the sea. He writes about pain and though coming from a singular place he can touch and move us all and his pain becomes a universal pain shared by all. His South-African/English mix of lyrics - he performed a.o. track 4 which got under my skin - is projected in translation on the screen. Beautiful. Tender. Dynamite. A true tribute to a poet who wanted to dynamitize language. As a bonus there was an old friend with whom I share a love for language and art and thus talking late over coffee and tonic.

Window of opportunity

In 2002 In Beirut the Arab League has worked out a peace plan for the Middle East. The Peace Plan has recently been reconfirmed and accepted by ALL member states. The Secretary General for the Arab League, Amr Moussa is touring to explain what it entails. In brief and only the main points: a durable just peace entails two sovereign viable states. The 22 countries of the Arab League offer recognition of the State of Israel and secure borders as they were in 1967. The thorny issue of the Palestian refugees who 60 years ago were encouraged to leave and find shelter in a refugee camp and who officially by the world leaders then were promised they could go back home to their houses as long as they had their key, should find a just, equitable, durable solution for all involved. The mutual violence has to be halted. It is so dangerously deadly now that a new term has come up: the Somalisation of the Gaza strip: despair, hunger, chaos so big that people turn on their own. The situation is highly critical for world peace. In Israel Simon Perez and others have said in the past the 'Beirut Plan' could be a basis for negotiation. Other leaders are divided and afraid. They remember what happened to brave Rabin when he started to become a man of peace. There seems to be a window of opportunity this year. The Quartet, all involved in trying to establish peace, should seize this chance and have talks with a deadline, otherwise dead and destruction is all that will be. We all living in democracies and defending this form of government are guilty as well. We told the Palestinians to be democratic and organize elections. They do and then we don't like the result and punish them... What message is that to all countries en route to democracy and peace? Let's get all parties involved around a table. Help them talk so they find a solution for the higher good of all. Negotiations are the only way. And please, do liberate Alan Johnston. it is his birthday and there are vigils for him all over the world. He is a voice of reason in the news about Palestine and the Middle East.

Reds

A couple enjoying a bit of sunshine before the rain. I admire the reckless abandon in the ladies fashion statement. She does and wears what pleases her: heavy, comfy shoes. I remember the stockings as a black and green tartan. I love the golden hearts she wears and the three reds. A flaming paradise bird sat on that corner reminding the strollers and walkers on the age old cobblestones that we must make our own road to happiness. As Dr Scarponi teaches: do what you want or need to be doing most. Add 'Don't worry be Hopi' to the mix and survival... Care and learn. I hope to be as spunky as she is and I'll remember her on a dark day's uneven road.