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“The Moon the Plum. / Moonlit and nocturnal. / Intensive Master on Tango"
POETRY BLOCK BCN CAT|May 17, 2015
"Deep pink: poetry and tango. The 'savoir faire' of the artists has been noticed, their professionalism, the love they feel for Tango and everything it represents. A luxury you"
Now he stops for a moment, looks around and adds: “it's for really falling asleep, that. You don't need Valium here”. Laughter. “How are we doing? No fucking idea, right?” Laughter and silence. He continues reading: “the official language is a mask [...]”, “even the most epic fantasies have a ridiculous side, of experiment”. He asks about the time and decides to leave it there. Applause. And it's the turn of the last participant, Núria Martínez Vernis: “imagination is soft”. Her voice is broken, between naive and idiotic, as if coming from a deep and inconclusive place, which will always be known as out of the game. “She has left a plenitude that does not fill”, “the monsters, who create ink when they lack blood”. She gets up. She says she will tell a story, a tale, who knows. She gets off the stage, turns around, now she is the star that moves around the audience: “with the double thread of the bitter saying to me”, she walks around, now she adopts a more theatrical, histrionic tone, with a voice that is somewhere between a crazy old woman and a possessed girl, she modulates and sings as if she were in the dining room of her house. “Saying yes, which is the wheel of the inevitable no”, “letting go... of... say say...”. Of all the notes taken with the darkness, the Pointer only understands this one: “indifference is a degree”. The Pointer has run out of pen, he wonders, or is it the darkness that swallows the ink?. Martínez Vernís follows, he has returned to his seat. The circle closes, the wheel must continue to gravitate up there somewhere. At the end, the Apuntador, your servant, leaves in a hurry to find a taxi to get to the Ateneu Barcelonès on time, which is hosting the event 'Deep Rose: Poetry and Tango'. There are still a lot of people at CosmoCaixa. Outside it's cool, stately homes, the last rays of sunshine, going downhill. Inside the taxi, the taxi driver dodges cars like a video game of motor racing, foot down, zigzag, pimp. Oh, the Center, oh, guirigall, oh, Plaça Catalunya Ramblas inside! The night is already tingling.
THE MOON THE PLUM
As is usual these days, it's been a day that invites you to go out. The imposing Sagrada Família is surrounded, as every day, by hundreds of tourists who erode the building with click click click. It's twelve noon. A few meters away, in the Sagrada Família library, the first event of the day begins, La Lluna la Pruna, a visual shadow show aimed at children aged 0 to 5. Assembly hall. Children who meet, these are their first social encounters. Some very young ones settle on their parents' laps, others investigate the balancing anatomy of the chair. The space consists of the audience area, the projection screen that acts as a hinge and, behind it, a table with various utensils where those responsible for the show, Mercè Framis and another woman who helps her, carry out the live montages, combining images in transparency with hands and backlights, thus generating the games of shadows and movements that are captured on the screen, along with the drawings. What would be a montage of Chinese shadows.The act consists, therefore, of visuals that are the starting point for introducing popular children's songs: 'Sol, solet', 'Cargol treu banya', 'La gallina 'purricana'', 'La lluna, la pruna', etc. There is also background music, based on toy instruments (a bit – and to understand us – in the manner of Pascal Comelade) and the voices of the protagonists, which serves them both to tell the stories and to give sound to what happens in them, for example the sound of the sea when a little fish appears on the screen that wants to travel: "peix peixet, de la canya de la canya, peix peixet de la canya al sarronet". A child on all fours decides to go explore on his own, he gets up, it seems that he wants to go up to the stage area but in the end he settles for just watching, speechless, who knows why.
Once outside, in the light of day, Barcelona continues to spin to its tune: guirigall, a hen party, people up and down.
LUNATICS: POETRY AND NIGHT
It's already afternoon and we have to climb up the city to the CosmoCaixa planetarium, where the recital 'Llunàtics: poetry and night' is being held, with the participation of poets Màrius Sampere, Enric Casasses, David Castillo and Núria Martínez-Vernis. When the Pointer arrives, there is already a queue. It can be seen that there is so much demand that it seems that some people will not be able to get in. Today is 'Museum Night' and it seems that people are more inclined to move around. The room is full to the brim. The poets on stage are preparing lots and lights with which they will read. I hear Màrius Sampere telling the co-director of 'La Setmana': "I have written a special poem for the occasion". The lights go out and the planetarium sky comes on, dark blue, while stars and the sun and moon appear, which slowly rotate. The Pointer cannot see the notebook where he is writing. He will try blindly, by trial and error and bad handwriting. Sam Abrams presents the event. He introduces the audience to the nocturnal theme of poetry and makes four strokes following the tradition it has had in literature. All in all, as old as walking, although, he remarks, "it was mainly from Romanticism that the theme became insistent and transversal in all literature". After reading a couple of nocturnal-themed poems, it is the turn of the first participant, Màrius Sampere.
Time of the presentation of the act
Sampere explains that the first poem he will read is written expressly for this event and that, in fact, more than half of his entire work was written at night. It begins: “one day, I don't know which one, the night was lost and I found it in my eyes”, “we were so happy, as dark and unknown”, “untying the path of the stars, we returned home”, and so on. The stars in the planetarium are spinning, little by little. Sampere reads with energy, shouting with his throat and arms: “a whole sky wounded in immensity by a plate on the table”, “a whole sky and dying, and dying, and not knowing, not knowing, if an egg or a chestnut”. Now the Moon passes through my piece of sky in the planetarium. “And no answer rises from the earth, except a flower”. Applause. It's Enric Casasses' turn: "when they told me it was about 'moonlighters, poetry and night', I found it to be an excess of information, and I chose only the night. Laughter from the audience. Casasses begins, standing up to read. He puts one hand in his back pocket, with the other orchestra: "seeing is saying little, when the space of the stars has taken shape, concentrated in four palms". Now the sky is blacker. He reads 'The Clown of Tradition': "they paralyze me with fear so that he knows his place. He is reminded of Thomas Hardy: "the narrow mind of someone who wants to write a book in a world like this" and goes on: "I made him open his eyes at night so that he could see me". Now Casasses intones a rhymed poem and David Castillo, seated, follows him with his hand. The universe spins around orbiting above our heads, now the sun passes again with the stars but here it never becomes day. Applause. The Pointer sees something resembling a galaxy, or is it a nebula? Will the universe crumble on us? It's David Castillo's turn: "now it's a commitment. After these two cracks comes the neighborhood." And he adds, exasperated: "so much fighting for so many things and finally we're here at La Caixa, right?". People laugh, some fall silent: has it happened or what? Castillo continues: "an anarchist friend of [here the Pointer doesn't understand the lyrics] told me: the banks are about to be robbed". Laughter and silence. A slight and brief applause from the back of the room. Castillo continues: "going off topic as often as I do, in my condition of lunatic", I will write a poem that has nothing to do with the topics proposed today and "which is the prologue to the nonsense I will tell you". And it begins: “as if slovenliness were a whim”, gypsies and “Slavic sluts”, supermarkets and scrap collectors. “A poem that is not about the night but about those who cannot dream”, he adds. “Plaça Reial, the most similar to the courtyard of 'La model'”, “they make hashish with their gaze”, “pul·lulo bewildered like a pigeon in the Metro”.
Postcard from the Planetarium at night. Poets doing things.
Now he stops for a moment, looks around and adds: “it's for really falling asleep, that. You don't need Valium here”. Laughter. “How are we doing? No fucking idea, right?” Laughter and silence. He continues reading: “the official language is a mask [...]”, “even the most epic fantasies have a ridiculous side, of experiment”. He asks about the time and decides to leave it there. Applause. And it's the turn of the last participant, Núria Martínez Vernis: “imagination is soft”. Her voice is broken, between naive and idiotic, as if coming from a deep and inconclusive place, which will always be known as out of the game. “She has left a plenitude that does not fill”, “the monsters, who create ink when they lack blood”. She gets up. She says she will tell a story, a tale, who knows. She gets off the stage, turns around, now she is the star that moves around the audience: “with the double thread of the bitter saying to me”, she walks around, now she adopts a more theatrical, histrionic tone, with a voice that is somewhere between a crazy old woman and a possessed girl, she modulates and sings as if she were in the dining room of her house. “Saying yes, which is the wheel of the inevitable no”, “letting go... of... say say...”. Of all the notes taken with the darkness, the Pointer only understands this one: “indifference is a degree”. The Pointer has run out of pen, he wonders, or is it the darkness that swallows the ink?. Martínez Vernís follows, he has returned to his seat. The circle closes, the wheel must continue to gravitate up there somewhere. At the end, the Apuntador, your servant, leaves in a hurry to find a taxi to get to the Ateneu Barcelonès on time, which is hosting the event 'Deep Rose: Poetry and Tango'. There are still a lot of people at CosmoCaixa. Outside it's cool, stately homes, the last rays of sunshine, going downhill. Inside the taxi, the taxi driver dodges cars like a video game of motor racing, foot down, zigzag, pimp. Oh, the Center, oh, guirigall, oh, Plaça Catalunya Ramblas inside! The night is already tingling.
***
At a nearby bar, Apuntador gets a chorizo sandwich made for him in record time and takes it to the Ateneu, where there is already a queue to get in. In fact, it is a queue of people who will no longer be able to get inside. The auditorium that is hosting the event is packed to the brim. The two floors of the hall. It smells of humanity. Apuntador has to stand, finishing his sandwich half-hidden. Some ladies complain because they can't get in, other gentlemen claim that women have taken their place. The people from ICUB have to intervene. The photographer, Pep Herrero, also runs through the hall. Later we will share the staircase to rest our legs for a while. I detect two more photographers and a cameraman. The show that is about to begin lasts an hour and forty-five minutes. No joke, it's almost twice as many as the usual shows of 'La Setmana'. Soon, but we'll see why. On stage, in the foreground, sitting at the round table, Eduardo Braier (narrator and pianist) and Claudio Frost (actor and dancer). In the background, Almut Wellman (who plays the bandoneón (for the uninitiated like the Apuntador, say that the bandoneón is the name of the typical accordion we hear in tangos)) and guitarist Esteban Vélez. In the background on the right, the grand piano and a standing microphone. The lights go out. Among the audience you can hear some “xxxtttt”, “xxttt”, there is someone arguing (it seems to be because of the seat). “Xxxxttt”, “xxxttt”, the rest is public. Let's begin. “Todo bien?” “Sure?”, Claudio asks. “If we repeat that tomorrow”, he adds sarcastically. The people laugh. The event will consist of a chronological review of the history of tango in a poetic key, from its beginnings to the present day. That is, many of the lyrics of the chosen tangos will be read/declaimed instead of sung. “Tango is a popular musical genre that has: music, dance and some say it is philosophy, too”, Eduardo begins, and: “tangos talk about the ups and downs of life and often reach poetic flight”, which touches all the keys of life, not just love. We are also told that the origins of Tango are marginal, from places like the suburbs and port cities around Montevideo and Buenos Aires. And yet, that at the beginning tango was something “cheerful and picturesque”. All of this, he emphasizes, “as if it were an opera condensed into three minutes”. Eduardo continues, reminds Machado “tango is an infinite possibility”. Song. The musicians are giving him a hard time. The two dancers, Maia Surribas and Jorge Talquenca, come out, dressed in elegant yet comfortable clothing, and delight the audience with their femur kicks and gripping turns, body to body.
On the background screen, photos are projected with the artists that the narrators are commenting on: Borges, the pioneers of tango: the poets Eduardo Arolas, Evaristo Carriego, Homero Manzi, Federico García Lorca. Eduardo and Claudio, who are having a conversation like a bar conversation, tell us anecdotes about all of them and put them in context. It is worth saying that the presenters are a well of knowledge. Eduardo gives more extensive explanations that are at the same time considered, you can see his tables, and he becomes a kind of 'storyteller'. Claudio acts more like the voice that challenges him. Between the explanation and the author quoted, they recite poems on both sides of the stage, they do a duet, Eduardo also plays the piano.
At a nearby bar, Apuntador gets a chorizo sandwich made for him in record time and takes it to the Ateneu, where there is already a queue to get in. In fact, it is a queue of people who will no longer be able to get inside. The auditorium that is hosting the event is packed to the brim. The two floors of the hall. It smells of humanity. Apuntador has to stand, finishing his sandwich half-hidden. Some ladies complain because they can't get in, other gentlemen claim that women have taken their place. The people from ICUB have to intervene. The photographer, Pep Herrero, also runs through the hall. Later we will share the staircase to rest our legs for a while. I detect two more photographers and a cameraman. The show that is about to begin lasts an hour and forty-five minutes. No joke, it's almost twice as many as the usual shows of 'La Setmana'. Soon, but we'll see why. On stage, in the foreground, sitting at the round table, Eduardo Braier (narrator and pianist) and Claudio Frost (actor and dancer). In the background, Almut Wellman (who plays the bandoneón (for the uninitiated like the Apuntador, say that the bandoneón is the name of the typical accordion we hear in tangos)) and guitarist Esteban Vélez. In the background on the right, the grand piano and a standing microphone. The lights go out. Among the audience you can hear some “xxxtttt”, “xxttt”, there is someone arguing (it seems to be because of the seat). “Xxxxttt”, “xxxttt”, the rest is public. Let's begin. “Todo bien?” “Sure?”, Claudio asks. “If we repeat that tomorrow”, he adds sarcastically. The people laugh. The event will consist of a chronological review of the history of tango in a poetic key, from its beginnings to the present day. That is, many of the lyrics of the chosen tangos will be read/declaimed instead of sung. “Tango is a popular musical genre that has: music, dance and some say it is philosophy, too”, Eduardo begins, and: “tangos talk about the ups and downs of life and often reach poetic flight”, which touches all the keys of life, not just love. We are also told that the origins of Tango are marginal, from places like the suburbs and port cities around Montevideo and Buenos Aires. And yet, that at the beginning tango was something “cheerful and picturesque”. All of this, he emphasizes, “as if it were an opera condensed into three minutes”. Eduardo continues, reminds Machado “tango is an infinite possibility”. Song. The musicians are giving him a hard time. The two dancers, Maia Surribas and Jorge Talquenca, come out, dressed in elegant yet comfortable clothing, and delight the audience with their femur kicks and gripping turns, body to body.
On the background screen, photos are projected with the artists that the narrators are commenting on: Borges, the pioneers of tango: the poets Eduardo Arolas, Evaristo Carriego, Homero Manzi, Federico García Lorca. Eduardo and Claudio, who are having a conversation like a bar conversation, tell us anecdotes about all of them and put them in context. It is worth saying that the presenters are a well of knowledge. Eduardo gives more extensive explanations that are at the same time considered, you can see his tables, and he becomes a kind of 'storyteller'. Claudio acts more like the voice that challenges him. Between the explanation and the author quoted, they recite poems on both sides of the stage, they do a duet, Eduardo also plays the piano.
Each poem is accompanied masterfully by the bandoneon and guitar. This will be the dynamic of the show. It must be admitted that there is a lot of work on stage. More names and photos appear on the screen in the room: Carlos Gardel (The one who sang a Tango for the first time, the one who practically invented the way of singing it, and of whom we are also shown a video of him singing 'Silencio'), Pascual Contursi (who we are told said: "if cheesy is what the people feel and sing, then I am cheesy"), José Maria Contursi (author of 'La noche que te fuiste'), Cátulo Castillo (author of "El último cafè"), Samuel Linning (author of the tango 'Milinguita'), Celedonio Flores ("poet king of the metric, author of countless successes"), Raquel Meyer (who, they tell us, lived in Barcelona for many years), Alfredo La Pera (lyricist who accompanied Gardel throughout his career), Amado Nervo (Mexican poet who La Pera was inspired by, they tell us, even though today almost no one remembers him). Of all of them, there are so many interesting stories and adventures that I cannot convey here due to the length limit. The event turns out to be an intensive tango master's degree, friends. "We will also do, even if it is one, if they allow us, a sung tango." More photos of artists appear on the screen, people like: Manuel Romero, Manuel Janés (who you can see was Catalan, born in Manresa, who learned music in Montserrat, who went to Buenos Aires and fell madly in love and has since stayed there). In fact, Argentina, they say, is where there are more Catalan families outside of Catalonia. There is even a Uruguayan theory, one of the two serious theories about it, according to Eduardo Braier, which says that Carlos Gardel's grandfather was from Sabadell. Poem, music, applause. More music, now only instrumental: piano, bandoneon and guitar. Applause. More images: Enrique Santos Discépalo (who makes tangos of social denunciation. Remember that: “that the world was, is and will be a mess, I know, in 506 and in 2000 too”?), a photo of 'el cafetín de Buenos Aires'. More songs: 'Romance de barrio', played with bandoneon and guitar. The two musicians dressed in black, she with a shirt that ends at her arms and ends in transparency, shining in her heart what looks like a red carnation. The bandoneon like a worm writhing, becomes a dance in itself. The guitarist does what is so difficult to appear that it is not noticeable that it is there. Applause.
The musicians, during the show
We are arriving at the end. Images and records by Enrique Cadícamo (in his tangos one can see the influence of the poet Rubén Darío, they tell us), Juan Carlos Cobián, Homero Expósito (they remember him from: “She was softer than water, than soft water. [...] First you have to know how to suffer, then to love, then to leave, and finally to walk without thought, perfume of orange blossom, promises [...]”? Which the Punter discovered here on his day), Eledia Blazquez. Music, poems. “We are arriving at the present time, and at the end”, Aníbal Troilo, Horacio Ferrer, Piazzolla, Julio de Caro. We are arriving at the end. “We could still continue for many hours with the tango, [...] we have left many important poets in the inkwell”. Claudio Frost is positioned in the middle of the stage, beret on his head, the microphone in his hand. The background instruments: “I come with a poem and a trombone to unveil your heart”, “the madmen invented love”, “madmen, madmen all!”, “she’s mad, me too!!!”. Applause. Bravos. To greet each other, a tango and a Milonga. The dancers reappear, now dressed in their finest.
The two dancers during the final tangos
Their belts, the 'puntillons' of guitar and piano, the meandering movement of the bandoneon. The tango becomes all one piece, one gear, flanking each other, flirting with each other, as if searching for the right fit. Eduardo thanks the attendees, the directors and the people of ICUB and Ateneu Barcelonès. Last dance, the milonga. Now Claudio dances for a while with the dancer and after a few polite movements, he returns it to the dancer. The dancers immerse themselves in it, both in one movement, their legs together, black and white, like the extension of the piano keys. Their single belt like the bandoneon. Let's remember the teachings of Zhuangzi or, even, that of the aforementioned tango: “And finally, walk without a thought...” Everything fits together, friends. Applause. Bravo. The protagonists greet, bow, leave and come back in. Applause.
D'esquerra a dreta: Esteban Vélez, Almut Wellman (partial tapada), Eduardo Braier, Claudio Frost, Maia Surriba and Jorge Talquenca
People starting to parade. They decide to do an encore. A single song, instrumental. Now the Pointer takes advantage of some empty seats to sit down. His leg moving to the rhythm of the music. Applause. It's been almost two hours. We have to leave. You know, go back 'home', write all this. Rest.
***
Deep pink: poetry and tango. The 'savoir faire' of the artists has been noticed, their professionalism, the love they feel for Tango and everything that it represents. A luxury you. L'Apuntador climbs the Ramblas beyond, into Raval. It's 'Museum Night'. The Macba square is full of people, skaters, bmx, beers and more. The people going up and down the Macba stairs look like little ants making and breaking their way. A young skater, about fifteen years old, jumps the steps of the square and nails a 'nollie frontside flip' and a 'big-speen flip' all in one go. Deunidó, pim-pam. Applause too. L'Apuntador advances into Raval, into Carrer de la Cera. The Bcn neta people clean and water some pedestrians. Suddenly, two teenage boys start running and attack a man riding a Bicing bike, apparently because they do. They throw themselves at him quite wildly, a 'full-blown hurricane kick'. Someone lifts the bike: the wheel now has a forty-five degree bend, the man stands up and looks at it, half angry and half absent-minded. People come closer, the teenagers must still be there but I can't see them anymore... Who knows where the whole thing is coming from. Anyway. Further on, bags of rubbish scattered around the street. The atmosphere is a bit of a jungle where anything can happen, you know, for better or for worse. Oh, this beautiful city of Barcelona, blurred into such a mosaic! Oh, you're welcome to go out for some fresh air so you can play the wing at night. But it's time to go to bed. Tomorrow – for today – we'll continue. The penultimate day of 'La Setmana', already. Make the most of the day. Look at the programme and make your diary.
Deep pink: poetry and tango. The 'savoir faire' of the artists has been noticed, their professionalism, the love they feel for Tango and everything that it represents. A luxury you. L'Apuntador climbs the Ramblas beyond, into Raval. It's 'Museum Night'. The Macba square is full of people, skaters, bmx, beers and more. The people going up and down the Macba stairs look like little ants making and breaking their way. A young skater, about fifteen years old, jumps the steps of the square and nails a 'nollie frontside flip' and a 'big-speen flip' all in one go. Deunidó, pim-pam. Applause too. L'Apuntador advances into Raval, into Carrer de la Cera. The Bcn neta people clean and water some pedestrians. Suddenly, two teenage boys start running and attack a man riding a Bicing bike, apparently because they do. They throw themselves at him quite wildly, a 'full-blown hurricane kick'. Someone lifts the bike: the wheel now has a forty-five degree bend, the man stands up and looks at it, half angry and half absent-minded. People come closer, the teenagers must still be there but I can't see them anymore... Who knows where the whole thing is coming from. Anyway. Further on, bags of rubbish scattered around the street. The atmosphere is a bit of a jungle where anything can happen, you know, for better or for worse. Oh, this beautiful city of Barcelona, blurred into such a mosaic! Oh, you're welcome to go out for some fresh air so you can play the wing at night. But it's time to go to bed. Tomorrow – for today – we'll continue. The penultimate day of 'La Setmana', already. Make the most of the day. Look at the programme and make your diary.
