In a juerga, there's nothing around
But voices, flamenco guitars,
Dancing bodies in moonlight,
Vibrant gypsy dresses,
Passion, obsessions,
Bullfighter's blades,
Silk shawls,
Dancers,
Capes.
Old men have faces scorched and cracked,
Flamenco women to attract,
Like barks of olive trees at night.
Shirts dazzle white in the moonlight.
Girls have boot heels and the roses,
Men clench their teeth, step opposes,
Hands clap and shout in a dance fight,
Shirts dazzle white in the moonlight.
Guitars are beaten at high speeds,
Castanets scratch the music's seeds,
Rhythmic fingers snap air to bite,
Shirts dazzle white in the moonlight.
Old men have faces scorched and cracked,
Shirts dazzle white in the moonlight.
Hands becoming wings
In their shadows on the wall,
Red becoming black and
Black becoming white,
Motion vibrating the guitar's string,
Cubic movements of colors,
In their dance,
Shadowy wings becoming scarfs,
Flamenco woman arching her body,
Showing her passion…
From the soul to dissolve
The dancing sounds detach
From the soul to dissolve
When the movement they catch,
They may change all around,
The dancing sounds detach.
Drums and tambourines sound,
Exotic wrists and swirls,
They may change all around.
The weightless grace makes girls
Steal treasures from the air,
Exotic wrists and swirls.
With beautiful black hair,
Rise like birds, fall like leaves.
Steal treasures from the air,
Having tricked up their sleeves,
From the soul to dissolve,
Rise like birds, fall like leaves
From the soul to dissolve.
Spicy slippery steps
Waiting for a clue,
Picking up portions of pink
Of hyper-femininity,
Overflowing screwy sounds
In heavy red chromesthesia,
Morphing themselves into glamorous,
Red feminine movements,
All men look like marble statues being alive,
Seemingly cracking.
Slowly diminishing their dancing rhythm,
Steps cutting sweet sounds
To hear the horn of some lost happiness.
Poem by Marieta Maglas
I was quite taken by your poem. You've put the magic of flamenco dance, music, movement, into words... Terry
Marvelous. After a long interval get the poet with her own space of filling dark a bit. Beautiful imagery and smooth its penetration to an imaginative global panorama where distinct the mark of footsteps of a poet not male by gender. 1] From the soul to dissolve The dancing sounds detach From the soul to dissolve 2] Hands becoming wings In their shadows on the wall, Red becoming black and Black becoming white, Motion vibrating the guitar's string, What more the story tells, I don't bother, but the diction of good poetry brings me a nice planet of poetic breath and flavor. Thank you very much.. ...Regards, pranab
Old men have faces scorched and cracked, Shirts dazzle white in the moonlight. I specially like these two lines much.Old men are busy weared out with strokes and heart attacks-weakened nerves and muscles.Thats the reason their faces are scorched.They do not have insurance to pay Ärztin praxis maglas so for their teeth only they long to dazzle with velvet smoothy feeling shirts.Moonlight and the aura of music has taken their senses away to die in the arms of flamenco.They only hope if the feelings from sensations could be as under Undone Her shadow let loose treading black The weight began: Collapsed flesh Jowls hanging from her jaw Breasts sagging to her waist Corpulence as a landscape sea of belly terrain of hips She could not sleep lying down She'd suffocate
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Really nice poem. I always love this kind of poem. This is my favorite style of writing poems.