Jerez de la Frontera

Jerez de la Frontera!

Hhhh-eray de la Fronte-ra!

Announced an old woman at the bus station

And she waved her hands

As if conducting an orchestra

Witch of Andalusia

Casting a spell

On this magic pueblo

La cuna de flamenco.

‘Te queda’ en Jere’?’

A smile cracked

Open the face

Of the Andalusian

As it dawns on him

Why this guiri is here

‘Te gu’ta el flamenco?’

Yo: ‘Si! Me encanta!’

The clap of many brown palms

Stamps pouring from windows

Por las calles.

The beating heart

Of Jerez de la Frontera!

‘Anda! Anda!’

‘Vamos Alla!’

‘Pasaaa!’

‘Toma que toma!’

Bahm-bohm.

Pausa.

Espera.

Te quiero – te quiero.

‘Alllllaaaaa!’

In Calle Pollo the one eyed man

Sits daily in Rincon del Arte

Neckerchief tucked into shirt

Cufflinks and shirt cuff

Cover tobacco-stained hands

Clutching a bronze-gilded cane

Gasping out letras de flamenco antiguo

‘veneno que tú tomaras

veneno tomara yo’

El Rincon del Arte.

The Corner of Art.

Flashing tacky neon

Cheerful sticky sucio

A sign that says

Por favor -

don’t leave without paying.

A fine caballo waits outside

With cart

Its owner has popped in,

Por un ratito

‘y coge un sillita

y sientate enfrente’

warm with copita

y bulerias de Jerez

ta-ta-ta/ta-ta-ta-ta-ka/tata/kata!

Bahm Bohm

Pausa.

Whilst gitanos process the streets

Of Jerez de la Frontera!

Hair shiny-black, slicked back

Rings glint gold in ears

The beating heart

In the streets

Of Jerez de la Frontera!

Bom-bom-bom bom.

Beat in the chest of guiris

Jerezanos y todos los gitanos.

Mujeres with large eyes &

Big black shiny hair

Framing brown faces

Painted in greens, reds and thick black

Hands poised to clamp

Heels poised to stamp.

Fandangos framing lips

Bocas por Buleria

Y tatata-ta-ta por Tarantas

Soft sad slow por Solea

Gently tapping toes

To Tangos then Tientos

The sorrow, la pena, el sufrimiento

La Siguiyira despues de la

Alegria

Que Alegria to be

In los pueblos de Cadiz

Y en los barrios de

Jerez de la Frontera!

En La Plazuela

Stand Lola Flores

& La Paquera de Jerez

Set in stone forever

Contorted

Dancing hands

Flamenco faces.

Standing guard

On either side of el barrio

Where flamenco is jon-do

Despa-cio y profun-do.

And the rambling cobbles

De Santiago where

Ramshackle piles

Cathedrals and stones

Held up by andamios and traditions

That have heard the canciones

De antiguo for centuries

‘La Calle Nueva!’

‘The New Street’

The street that never dies.

The gypsy street

That lives through

The letras y canciones

The beating heart

In the streets

Of Jerez de la Frontera!

Plazuela and Santiago

In between the swarms

The families

Guapo in best clothes

Bellos niños.

Perfumed handkerchiefs

Tucked into breast pockets

Pour through Plaza Arenal

Plaza Plateros

Calle Larga

Around the market’s ancient halls.

Vendors shouting

For you to buy their ajos

Los caracoles, la hierbabuena.

‘Desde que se fue mi Pepe

el huerto no se ha regado

La hierbabuena no crece.’

In between los dos barrios

Of Jerez de la Frontera!

In Plazuela is an old panaderia

Where young guiris live

A courtyard surrounding

A huge ancient oven.

Long days stamping

Turning, tapping

On old wooden floors

Juergas, fiestitas

And fires

In an old oil drum

Under the moon and stars

Practicing and emulating

This borrowed tradition.

Musicians de Israel,

With black gypsy curls,

Almost Spanish-looks,

Or de Francia, de Japón,

De Polonia, de Bélgica

Otros españoles

To practice to listen to watch

Hours, hours, again and again

To live flamenco

From peña to peña

Reunion to actuación

Watching youtube videos

On old androids

Broken as Jerez pavements

Patchy wifi

Buscando el soniquete

To never quite reach it.

Perhaps to never be found.

The unspoken cosa.

And in los pisos de Santiago

Above ancient flamenco bars

Cracked tiled floors

Rooms without heat

Equipped for unbearable

Andalusian summers.

And not the cold winter damp

Guiris y Jerezanos

Come together

To share crisps, maize and nuts

Large bottles of Cruzcampo

Dripping condensation

And lining the tables

Of Jerez de la Frontera!

A young woman weeps

Alone at her window

Overlooking Calle Ancha

Across the street

Lanterns framed

In dark green foliage

Which stretch up the street

Like sentinels

Protecting the ancient art of flamenco

A couple are playing

A young man

Intense eyes mouth set

Strumming Soleas

Giving but containing

And across from him

A young woman

Large thick black mane

On thin shoulders

Large Spanish eyes

Shepherdess in white poncho

Hands clutching air

As she sings

Moaning undulating letras

Giving to the young man

As he receives and returns.

They are encased in

Sad, slow, knowing of the world

Acceptance of all

Its offerings; its limits

To be unable to end suffering

But to sit with it.

These eternal canciones

Of the streets surrounding

Jerez de la Frontera!

Along from the weeping lady

Looking to the lights

Is another balcón

And another young man

Looking down at stones

Inhaling from a joint

He has rolled

At the table with his friends.

He smokes alone

And returns to strum Bulerias

Loudly, wildly on his guitar.

Aggressive, overblown mimicry

The gentle, rapid strum

Of the Buleria

The beating heart

In the streets

Of Jerez de la Frontera!

‘Te lo dije de broma

te lo dije de broma

tan serio te las toma’o

que ni a la puerta

asomas’.

‘I told it to you in jest

I told it to you in jest,

so seriously you took it

that you won’t show your face

at the door’.

Loud, wild, lost

Cocooned in the world

All here

On the balcony

In the pisos

In the peñas

In the streets

In the beating heart

Of Jerez de la Frontera!