Abrazos
Flying to Madrid
March, 12nd, 2005
In a sense, to make a journey may mean a kind of drifting of,
not the body, but the mind. It could be a freedom, in time and space,
that the mind enjoys. It is not body, but mind that meets and spends
days and nights of an unfamiliar place, somewhat in fear, somewhat
in sweet curiosity. In most cases, in a long move our body gets
powerless, with its eyes and ears naturally duller, but In contrast,
our mind grows brighter, with its eyes twinkling with curiosity.
Particularly so it does in a long flight. It is impossible for the body
flying over the cloud, as matter of fact confined to a narrow seat,
to taste a breeze of freedom. In a sense, the body in a flying airplane
will be no more than a mild animal locked in the fold. At that moment,
,in his thinking, his body above the cloud can be compared to a fish
in the running fish preserve ( a corf ). And not a passenger in flight
can expect the rhythmic movement or the soft engine sound of Greyhound
running at dawn on the wide plain accompanied by twinkling stars above.
However, the mind feels refreshed with a foreseen gift given by the flight:
a freedom to imagine that it sees in advance the Mediterranean sea,
which it wished to go to, and perceive the sea breeze full of the light
to shake softly the ends of Olive trees by the seashore. In short,
Flight confining the body in a fold gives to the mind a rare gift of
sweet imaginations.
To make a long flight mean, to me, that prior to the body,
the mind reaches in advance,t hrough free imaginations,
the cities we are flying bound for. At this moment the mind has
an unusual experience: by a kind of fluid movements the mind can
reach any place, as it wishes to. It freely fly back to a place the past, or
meet the cities in the future prior to the body. In other words,
in flight I can get my mind return to the sea of the past,
where I used to live by in my boyhood.
And also I can reach in advance the cities of tomorrow, in which
hostels will wait for strangers with aroma of coffee and the legend of
Alhambra in Granada which Washington Irving told us.
As for me, such is a journey by air. Anyway, in this case of my flying
to Madrid, Flamenco is everything to me. I got aboard this airplane
bound for Spain with a purpose only: to come close to flamenco.
Moon keeps on muttering to himself confined in the aisle seat
with his eyes closed:
In Granada
at night with full moon rising
will climb Albaicin village and
there look down to the Alhambra,
treasuring its bloody legend,
with the intoxicated eyes by
Arabian herb perfume,
flamenco guitar rhythm and Garcia Lorca's poem.
In Jerez
will wind into the narrow lane to gypsy dwellings,
it is said, luring strangers with sweet sherry of Jerez,
the way of which in the beginning, it is said,
gypsies and donkeys began to open,
and fill the grass with the sherry
made of grapes and the deep song of flamenco.
And reaching Cadiz,
the city of light,
will let the pure sea light wash my dim eyes.
In Madrid
you should remember a hint that a guide book gave you:
What seizes your mind is
rather than Palado museum,
rather than ?Baleskes stature,
a street guitarist, at the foot of it, playing Bach
When to Barcelona to see Gaudi Cathedral ?
Oh, forget it, this time. Concentrate on flamenco only.
You know, in his journey to the Mediterranean sea,
the meaning of his Mediterranean had less to do with geography
than with anticipation , emotions and visual imagination.
At that moment He never visited Florence or Bay of Naples.
His drive to discover new and diverse sources of motifs
was for one purpose only: to paint.
in Spain
1
In our life there may occur an encounter, no one can foresee,
to turn the course of life regardless of our will. Probably Such
a case could be applied to this hosteller, Moon who happened
to be present at the flamenco performance in Portland,
as described before,
Strangely enough he flied alone to the city again the next year,
this time with nothing but a purpose: to see flamenco.
At that time he was scheduled to get on board the airplane bound
for LA with his wife to visit her family there,That is to say,
he was driven to change his flying schedule by an irresistible urge
in his mind. As a result, in his second visit to Portland, he met
a bailaora ( a woman flamenco dancer) there named Lau,
whom he invited to his hometown, Masan, South Korea,
for a performance he held there several years after that.
Furthermore he alone made a journey to Andalusia, Spain,
the place of its origin. In short, with his first encounter with flamenco
as a momentum, he has become flamenco-intoxicated
in spite of himself!
He has said before in relation with flamenco,
" If I had had a chance to hear and see it much earlier,
I would be now a tocaor (a flamenco guitarist) or a bailaor
( a man dancer). It may be no exaggeration that not a day
has passed without my thinking of flamenco."
At first he was captured by Baile among the three basic components-
Cante (song), Baile (dance),Toque (guitar). Until he never forgets
the night of flamenco performance in Portland when the dancer Lau dancing
with her arms held in a smooth carve, unbroken by the bend of the elbows.
He like to recollect the night's stage, on which she danced ,
with her splayed fingers traced curling arabesques.
Cante has been his most favorite. Anyway, he really loved to hear
Cante sung. In this relation he himself has enjoyed to recite a line, below,
of verse for Cante:
Even my soul feels the pain
of so many tears
because these griefs will never get smaller,
will grow with the years.
Probably most flamenco lovers will sympathize with Luis Rosales
who described Cante sung as follows:
At the opening of the cante, in the ayeo, the voice is pure ｅxpression.
Its sound is like the wind through the trees. The copla has not yet begun;
the opening of the cante is not made of words, it is made of sounds
and these sounds tell us nothing: they tremble; they say nothing:
they sing...... In the ayeo the voice is heard in a distinctive and
fundamental way..... It is found as if in the portal to the day of creation,
as if language did not yet exist
Flying to Madrid
March, 12nd, 2005
In a sense, to make a journey may mean a kind of drifting of,
not the body, but the mind. It could be a freedom, in time and space,
that the mind enjoys. It is not body, but mind that meets and spends
days and nights of an unfamiliar place, somewhat in fear, somewhat
in sweet curiosity. In most cases, in a long move our body gets
powerless, with its eyes and ears naturally duller, but In contrast,
our mind grows brighter, with its eyes twinkling with curiosity.
Particularly so it does in a long flight. It is impossible for the body
flying over the cloud, as matter of fact confined to a narrow seat,
to taste a breeze of freedom. In a sense, the body in a flying airplane
will be no more than a mild animal locked in the fold. At that moment,
,in his thinking, his body above the cloud can be compared to a fish
in the running fish preserve ( a corf ). And not a passenger in flight
can expect the rhythmic movement or the soft engine sound of Greyhound
running at dawn on the wide plain accompanied by twinkling stars above.
However, the mind feels refreshed with a foreseen gift given by the flight:
a freedom to imagine that it sees in advance the Mediterranean sea,
which it wished to go to, and perceive the sea breeze full of the light
to shake softly the ends of Olive trees by the seashore. In short,
Flight confining the body in a fold gives to the mind a rare gift of
sweet imaginations.
To make a long flight mean, to me, that prior to the body,
the mind reaches in advance,t hrough free imaginations,
the cities we are flying bound for. At this moment the mind has
an unusual experience: by a kind of fluid movements the mind can
reach any place, as it wishes to. It freely fly back to a place the past, or
meet the cities in the future prior to the body. In other words,
in flight I can get my mind return to the sea of the past,
where I used to live by in my boyhood.
And also I can reach in advance the cities of tomorrow, in which
hostels will wait for strangers with aroma of coffee and the legend of
Alhambra in Granada which Washington Irving told us.
As for me, such is a journey by air. Anyway, in this case of my flying
to Madrid, Flamenco is everything to me. I got aboard this airplane
bound for Spain with a purpose only: to come close to flamenco.
Moon keeps on muttering to himself confined in the aisle seat
with his eyes closed:
In Granada
at night with full moon rising
will climb Albaicin village and
there look down to the Alhambra,
treasuring its bloody legend,
with the intoxicated eyes by
Arabian herb perfume,
flamenco guitar rhythm and Garcia Lorca's poem.
In Jerez
will wind into the narrow lane to gypsy dwellings,
it is said, luring strangers with sweet sherry of Jerez,
the way of which in the beginning, it is said,
gypsies and donkeys began to open,
and fill the grass with the sherry
made of grapes and the deep song of flamenco.
And reaching Cadiz,
the city of light,
will let the pure sea light wash my dim eyes.
In Madrid
you should remember a hint that a guide book gave you:
What seizes your mind is
rather than Palado museum,
rather than ?Baleskes stature,
a street guitarist, at the foot of it, playing Bach
When to Barcelona to see Gaudi Cathedral ?
Oh, forget it, this time. Concentrate on flamenco only.
You know, in his journey to the Mediterranean sea,
the meaning of his Mediterranean had less to do with geography
than with anticipation , emotions and visual imagination.
At that moment He never visited Florence or Bay of Naples.
His drive to discover new and diverse sources of motifs
was for one purpose only: to paint.
Spain
2.
Moon's memos of April, 2006
5th
In the hostel, Caracol
not far from the western sea-front of Cadiz.
....................
In Cadiz every day in the morning
the grand roar of the waves overwhelms me
facing the sea full of light.
Why am I here alone afar off from home?
As Pissarro, an impressionist painter said,
in order to get the wound of my soul ?
Looking afar toward the horizon dividing the sea and the sky
I recite lines of verse (copla) of Tona, a kind of flamenco song:
When I'm up on the hill
I like to face the wind,
to let it carry off my pain
and ease my suffering.
6th
In Cadiz
a bed of hostel Caracol, a bit chilly,
in which lies the fatigued body curled up like a prawn
but the refreshed mind filled with the sea color.
7th
In Jerez
'Flamenco is a tragedy in the first person.'
I send a email asking Lau in Portland
what you mean by it.
She mailed her interpretation as follows:
Any personal tragedy cannot be shared with others
by saying or action. Flamenco expresses such a tragic experience.
8th
In Jerez
A long contemplation on the straight road
to the Fundacion Andaluz de Flamenco:
Every solo baile( flamenco dance) is in essence introvert.
The body in the moment of dancing moves inward,
not toward others
10th
Maria, a flamenco dancer in Jerz gave me a book,
'Song of the Outcasts' by Robin Totton
in which the writer says that there are no leaps,
no upward movements of any sort,
quoting, " Ballet is up, flamenco is down."
Oh, this vanity of indulging myself to flamenco!
11th
On the road toward to Seville
a line, below, coming into my mind:
"Flamenco , in its awesome spontaneity, is in him
who can suffer from the world and feel within him-
like the dawning- an irresistible urge to cry out
14th
In Tarifa
By the Tarifa seashore I look at the Strait of Gibraltar.
The wind touching the skin is like the pointed end of a knife.
Probably it will be not because of the chilly wind
but because of the sound of it reminding me of the deep sigh for
grief of my mother who is buried in the hill, densely covered with azalea,
not far from my hometown.
Anyway I hurry to walk toward the quayside on which lies at anchor
a ferry, prior to sailing out, bound for Tanger, Morocco
across the Strait.
0일
In Granada
sun-shining
sit in the bus terminal to wait for a Seville-bound bus,
over the cup of coffee the Images coming across my mind:
alleys in Jerez filled with the fragrance of Sherry wine
the splendid and grand sea of Cadiz,,
the narrow Strait of Gibraltar between Tarifa and Tanger,
the ferry 's custom officers with cautious eyes checking-up me
desolate landscape of Tanger under the hot and dry weather,
And a moment of meditation on what Garcia Lorca said about
Gypsy flamenco:
The Gypsy siguiriya begins with a terrible cry, a cry that divides the landscape
into two ideal hemisphere. Then the pauses to make room for a silence that
is both amazing and measured , a silence in which the face of the turning lily glows
, the lily that has left its voice in the heavens. Next, the undulating and
never-ending melody begins as it does in Bach, though in a different sense.
The infinite melody of Bach is round: the phrase could repeat itself forever
in a circular manner; but the melody of the siguiriya disappears into the horizontal;
it escapes through our fingers and we see it off in the distance like a perfect
point of common hope and passion- where the soul can never arrive.
Madrid, Apr.
Dear Lau
Back again to Madrid, safe and sound. Sangria-drunken I am looking back on my Spain trip.
Madrid will be remembered as a city of rain. It was drizzling the first night when I was going to this city by taxi from the airport, it was drizzling. And now again I am looking outside through windows of the bus running back to this city at the dark street scene where it is drizzling.
Granada, a grand cave with jewels of flamenco twinkling in would be the past legends of glory Washington Irving loved.
Cadiz by the roaring sound of the sea reminded me of the sea scenery in Moby Dick by Hermann Melville.
Malaga was a triste city where I breathed in the sweet sea smell for the first time since my Spain trip for Flamenco.
Jerez was an inspiring city full of sherry scent. Somewhat for my writing, because the city seemed to keep the essence of flamenco as what it is.
Thinking of a line which a flamenco said: 'Flamenco is the tragedy in the first person'.
abrazos
Gohk
Madrid, Apr., 2006
Dear Lau:
My visit to Madrid would be ended as just a
short tourism, If I had not had a good luck, as below,
to meet a street guitarist playing a Bach ,
to take a long walk in the Museo of MNCARS where I
stood looking at a modern painting titled Louvre
together with other several modern artworks familiar to me,
and lastly to find an time-worn cinema hall 5 minutes walk away
from the hostel MAD where I have stayed, which gave me as a gift a movie
regarding Carmen Amaya dancing flamenco.
Late at my last night in Spain here, dim and drizzling outside
I smoke tobacco in a bar alone with my ears given to classical music.
That is a rare experience for me to taste a deep solitude,
a kind of an odor of nostalgia, pure and dry.
different from the loneliness, sorrowful and wet.
Adios