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This Man, This Soul
A poem by JE Beni Bologna Brazilan writer and poet
Listen !
Over the firing air, fly the sounds
from thumbs, fingers
feet and nails
of players, dancers, palmeros
Astonished, our burning hearts
mastering mysteries
hear life, itself
telling stories and histories
of love, pain, hate and forgiveness
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Tantalized by the hypnotic rhythm
by crystal sharps and golpes
we forget that behind this kind
and mysterious tool
there is the hand of a man
with a soul
Able to whisper, winds through trees
kidnapping them
in a structure of strings
offering to nails, the meaning of all meanings
This hand, of a man with a soul
is made out of sounding woods
to describe mankind
in all their moods
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He can pick up the trunks
the branches, dig back the roots
and make them speak so high
that wind and streams
ever flow, never die
This man is a luthier
the perfect tuner
he is the hands behind the fingers
he is the saw below these sounds
the alchemist beneath the timbre
A master of light and shadow
moon secrets of varnish and glue
sometimes negra
sometimes blanca
sometimes red, but never blue
 January 27, 2012 |

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