Sally Bavage writes:
The fourth partnership
event with this lively and popular local café was, once again, a storming
success. It was packed out, with
latecomers having to press their noses against the glass from the outside, watching proprietor Richard
Lindley as he compered a delightful mix of tapas, wine, poetry and music. Portuguese songstress Mila Dores was incomparable!
Eyes closed, you
were in a Spanish bar, with the perfume of warm chorizo in your nostrils and
the plaintive tones of Mila in your ears. She was accompanied by talented musicians Neil Innes on guitar
and Richard Ormerod (playing for the LitFest again on Saturday evening, 17 March, at Scriptophilia in the Heart centre) on percussion
and flute. We were treated to a
selection of songs in English, Spanish and Portuguese that covered the usual
themes of love, loss and death. The Girl from Ipanema was written first in
Portuguese in 1962, and Mila’s cover version was a knockout. One number, sung in the ‘fado’ style of
unaccompanied voice, left us emotionally wrenched as it lamented the fishermen
and explorers who left Portugal, never to return.
Poetry by Federico García Lorca, perhaps the greatest Spanish poet of the twentieth century, who was murdered by General Franco's fascists at the start of the Civil War in 1936, was presented in Spanish by José González and in English by Richard
Wilcocks. His portrait was in a frame on the counter. There was blood and tears, loyalty
and love, loss and death, and also passion and meaning whichever the language, the words flowing round us in a
narrative stream. The first poem was Romance sonámbulo (Dreamwalker Ballad) from Romancero gitano, which begins 'Verde que te quiero verde.' ('Green how I want you green.')
Richard Lindley also read us a trio of shorter poems: The Guitar (La guitarra) plays well to the audience, The Shout (El grito) is short and loud and Seville (Sevilla) takes us to the heart of the hot south of Spain.
It is fascinating to hear
the same poem read to a hushed
audience, first in the gentle sweeps of English rhythm and then in José’s more
staccato Andalucian tones. One poem, two languages, two rhythms, one idea.
At times the audience was
swaying, not with the effects of the wicked sangría mixed by our resident
expert but in time to the mellifluous voice and music washing over us. Fingers
and toes tapped compulsively to some of the faster beats. Not Tourettes but just darn good music!
Altogether, an
extraordinary evening. Just how do you spell
‘whoop’ and ‘holler’ in Portuguese?