Faith saved us from the savages that we were, losing faith makes us savages again
Spillwords.com presents: Surfeando con Carlotas, a poem by Francisco Bravo Cabrera, a poet who uses words, music and paints on a canvas …
Origen: Surfeando con Carlotas by Francisco B. Cabrera at Spillwords.com
Favor de pinchar el enlace para leer el poema…
Please click on the link to read the poem…
GRACIAS – CHEERS
Entonces, al llegar la mañana,
la luz del día,
el calor del sol,
¿Quién recoge la oscuridad de la noche
que se queda como un manto negro
sobre la cantidad de flores y colores que ahora encuentro?
(2020, Francisco Bravo Cabrera, 25/10/2023, Valencia, España/Derechos Reservados)
Una de les seves cançons que més m’agrada: Si ella me faltara alguna vez.
Us convido a escoltar-la:
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Una de sus canciones que más me gusta: «Sie ella me faltara alguna vez» . Os convido a escucharla:
Pablo Milanés (1943–2022) R.I.P.
Moltes gràcies…
The only inhabited island belonging to the Comunitat Valenciana, Spain, and it is a paradise!
Cheers!
«A veces los pensamientos que nos llevan a la creación mayor nacen en lo más oscuro y profundo de la noche cuando uno está en el quinto sueño y uno tiene que levantarse y ponerse a trabajar porque el duende no regresa si lo desprecias.» (Francisco Bravo Cabrera)
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«Sometimes the thoughts that lead us to greater creation are born in the darkest and deepest part of the night when one is quite snug in the arms of Morpheus, and one has to get up and get to work because the muse does not return if you disrespect it.» (Francisco Bravo Cabrera)
FRAGMENTOS Y PENSAMIENTOS QUE DIERON PIE A CUADROS MIOS
FRAGMENTS AND THOUGHTS THAT GAVE WAY TO SOME OF MY ARTWORK
GRACIAS – CHEERS
I call my drawings, and many of my paintings, «JaZzArT» because they dance…
Jazz music follows three basic «rules» which are: Improvisation, the player (soloist) as composer and swing. I try to do the same within my artwork. But how do I accomplish it? I’ll tell you…
First, I start by imagining the composition, in other words, visualising it vividly in full detail as I listen to some jazzy tunes; I begin to sketch to the music, following the rhythm and the nuances of the melody; I allow the sketch to «climb up to the canvas» in colours that resemble the chords and the harmonies that I am listening to; then I improvise instead of simply copying the sketch and I let my «soloist» (usually one of the figures within the composition) to lead me on, to tell me the colour, to compose a bit; then I balance the colour wheel within the composition so that it can dance…
Here are some examples of JaZzArT drawings…
CHEERS
Hi ha alguna cosa especial en aquests carrers quan al matí d’hora contemplen el cel sense ningú per ells caminant…
MOLTES GRÀCIES
MERCI
GRACAIS
Mi poema «Surfeando con carlotas» ha sido nominado en Spillwords Press para el premio de mejor poema internacional y necesito vuestros votos para ganar. Os agradezco grandemente el apoyo.
MUCHAS GRACIAS
My poem «Surfeando con carlotas» has been nominated for Publication of the Year (international)! With your help it can win.
AND…
Thank you so much!
FOOTSTEPS ON THE SAND
From the bottom
of the deepest ocean,
a tenor’s voice defeats the orchestra,
survives the pressure and currents of the deep
and rises to a sandy beach and walks along the sand.
Faith has its own groove rhythmic,
free from church, free from bells.
I’m a lover of God
as you can tell.
I hear the tides,
they’re singing.
I hear the water,
each tiny wave
trying to follow,
learning the words
humming along.
It’s not a miracle, it’s life…
From the depths you rise,
to the heavens you’ll soar,
Relax,
if you’re afraid to fly,
you can climb a staircase to the stars.
It’s time to nurture your soul…
The day whispers his secrets to the night as she approaches.
The night whispers her secrets to the morning.
The sun is rising,
The light dividing night from day is moving east,
but a line never begins where one had ended,
the snake its tail to bite pretended…
A sigh is heard from high above the clouds,
the mountains hold their breath
and strain their ears to listen,
and He lets it be,
and His voice is louder than thunder.
And as the peace of a quiet dream
turns into one loud primal scream,
the Earth exhales,
the Universe can breathe.
The footsteps on the beach
were left
by me.
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