JaZzArt en València

KNOW THYSELF

Know Thyself… The quest to know one’s self must have begun as a concept, but once in a while we allow it to become a festering thought or a perhaps a sandstorm that races across our thoughts and fills our head with sand. It is a subject that one cannot truly fathom and that one tends to push aside to think on another day. But what day? When? We, the collective “I” simply does not know. I’ve no idea, perhaps never.

Well, like it or not I will refer to this ancient aphorism that throughout history has been thought about and transmitted, generation to generation, expressed in one way or another. But then I ask myself, what the hell for? Sadly, I don’t know. My conclusion is that it could be something valuable or merely rubbish.
But since this aphorism, supposedly, comes from Ancient Greece it should be something important for us. After all Ancient Greece is the cradle of our Western civilization, no? Well, in my country there’s also an old saying: The devil is wise not because he is the devil but because he is old. So old things are wise? Then if we have been told, since ancient times, that we must know ourselves, then the thought is more than an ancient aphorism it is an imperative. It must be considered. It must be analised. It must be studied. Or not.

But, caveat emptor, if you do decide to look inside and search through your inner self, lookout. Be aware that the results may not really make you happy, or enlighten you in any way. You see, you may discover that you are a worthless cretin, or an idiot. And it is also quite possible that the devil is not wise because he is old but because he is the devil. Since we do not know, then everything is possible, no?

In any event, psychological experts (good grief experts!) say that we must be conscious and well aware of what we are and who we are. And to know that we must endeavour to search diligently and bravely. That whatever the results of the search may be, we must accept it. But The Beatles, much more important to me than psychological experts, said, to let it be. What is the purpose if the results can lead us directly to a loony bin? So who the hell wants to dive into the abyss of the psyche…as the Ancient Greeks called the soul…and discover who we are?

Can this be the real meaning/purpose of life, to know ourselves?
Personally, after analysing this aphorism from various angles, instead of searching within myself, I prefer to instead ask myself, what is it good for? I do not believe that such a “psychological” epiphany will lead me to greater riches, fame or make me more good looking. And if it does not serve these purposes, or do these things which are crucial for modern life, then what is it good for? Well, guess what, I cannot answer that question either. I just do not know. All I know is that it may lead to a discovery that I may find atrocious, or one that I may find glorious? Hmm…

Now, since we are told (by experts in history!) that ancient philosophers were wise men, we confront our modern life with their “wise sayings” and try to live according to their ideals. Their ancient words are considered valuable. Our modern society venerates them to the point of practically considering them infallible truths.

And not only old sayings, we also value very highly what we consider to be a classical education. Our culture, after all, comes from Ancient Greece and Rome. We show off uttering something in Latin or Greek (or Chinese, Hindi, Hebrew or Arabic) even if we really don’t know what it means. To be consequential with how sophisticated and cultured we think we are, we attend concerts of classical music, sonatas, cantatas, opera. We sit in the theatre as the music flows through our bored out ears, but steadfast we remain to the final curtain. We stroll through museums admiring statues of Ancient Greeks and Romans standing there naked defying our new puritanical ways. We rummage through archaeological ruins et cetera et cetera.

But when we return home, tired of so many music conservatories, theatres, museums and archaeological sites, the only thing we want is a cold beer or a glass of Rioja, and perhaps, if you are Spanish, accompany our wine with chorizo, Iberian ham and Manchego cheese. No?

So, in my humble opinion, I would rather not know any more about myself and stay as I am. I am happy in my ignorance. And I think I’ve a point as there is another old saying (at least in my country) that says that better to stick to the evil known than look for the good to be discovered. So, since I think like this, I am willing to leave my interior self wandering through the depths of my soul, at least for the time being. I don’t care to make its acquaintance. I do not know about you, but I like the “me” I live with.

Francisco Bravo Cabrera – 04 DEC 2024 – Valencia, España

Hours filled with thoughts roll before me…
I’m dreaming of travelling north,
as I watch silver trains roll on by me,
floating like ghostly silver smoke.
But this stale, clingy south surrounds me like flowers,
that brighten my eyes as I dance,
trying to provoke me to stay and to keep me.
So I sit in the street where my hope is my chance.
I sit and I think, and I dream,
and I find myself floating in the smoke
and running through wind,
and my thoughts roll before me,
and the hours fill my mind…

C.2022, Francisco Bravo Cabrera, 19 FEB 2022, València, España

Hours filled with thoughts roll before me…
I’m dreaming of travelling north,
as I watch silver trains roll on by me,
floating like ghostly silver smoke.
But this stale, clingy south surrounds me like flowers,
that brighten my eyes as I dance,
trying to provoke me to stay and to keep me.
So I sit in the street where my hope is my chance.
I sit and I think, and I dream,
and I find myself floating in the smoke
and running through wind,
and my thoughts roll before me,
and the hours fill my mind…

C.2022, Francisco Bravo Cabrera, 19 FEB 2022, València, España

We live in an era where «they» hide the bones but later want to paint them. What does this mean? I don’t know, you think about it, I am sure everyone that thinks on this for a minute will come to a concrete and meaningful thought. Or not… This is the age of contradictions, without a doubt. But that doesn’t matter because the objective, the end, is to confuse us all. «They» proclaim freedoms for «self-proclaimed» social groups, but they gradually take away freedoms from the normal whole. They do this drop by drop, so we don’t realize it. But many of us have noticed, we have awakened from the foolish dream we dreamed after taking the thousands of drugs and other sedatives that were shoved down our throats. And when we opened our eyes, what we saw was the scum and not the steel.

We were once steel, full of strength, life, vitality, energy, and creative thoughts. We made music with spiritual, social, political meaning, etc. We fought for a free world where, respecting the rights of others, we could express ourselves as we pleased. Love was free, sex, as well as the human body was not a taboo, and we experienced relationships free from the orders dictated by churches or courts. The cultural revolution gave us great strength and set the guidelines for the years to come…

But now we are the scum. «They» govern us, manipulate us, distort our words, overlook our intentions, impose fools in place of politicians that tell us they are our leaders. We used to have «public servants» and now we’ve «government officials!. And worst of all, the ones who govern and limit us the most are the algorithms that control all our social media, our so-called «free» social networks. Yes, they started as free networks, but today they are all controlled. Nothing exists anymore; reality is a fiction fabricated by the elites, (the «they»), to make us think we live in a democratic republic.

The wise ones of old are now the modern day hypocrites. The «elite» are the new priesthood. The new magician kings will turn everything they touch, not into gold, like Midas, but into shit. Shit for us, the gold for them. The «they» are hiding behind a huge impenetrable, (or so they think), curtain like the Great Oz. They give us clues about their existence but they do not show their face. I tell you, the demented are running the world after escaping from the looney bin. And where is the police to protect us?

I really would like to hear what you think…

CHEERS

KIND OF LOVE

She wakes up to a song she’s programmed on her mobile phone
and thinks “this is the day” and wonders where she’ll roam
because the forests own the streets,
and gardens own the elevators…
But keeping with the beat of the song she used to waking up to,
she scrambles to her instant coffee,
adds a healthy shot of bourbon,
skips and jumps and showers promptly,
dresses with the ugly fashion
that they’re now all wearing
in the office, bars and bistros,
she takes another drink and wonders if she’ll end up in Skid Row,
’cause her skin’s already faded,
and her blue eyes?
Lubricated by the thoughts that ravage madly through her mind.
She thought she tasted love
but it was Gin and not too fancy,
and she can’t remember who it was or when,
possibly in the days when she was oh so chancy,
yet it’s not a sin,
in love we all try to pretend…
She stumbles to her flat on Flatbush,
Thinking I’m not drunk just ambushed
by silent shadows that in Brooklyn always wait for love.
A love that no one gives them.
A love that’s quite indecent.
A yearning, burning, prima-donna type of condescending
Feeling like a lump of dry manure,
yet it’s so intense, and quite long lasting,
we all know it will endure,
because it is a colourful and quite alluring kind of love.
Tomorrow she’ll be hanging from a rope she tied so lovingly …

C.2021, Francisco Bravo Cabrera, 12 MAR 2021, Valencia, Spain

La envidia, un mal pernicioso que corroe el alma…

As the first chords of Paul Revere and the Raider’s song, «Cherokee People» blasted through the sound system, I realised that he would speak something true, something transcendental, and perhaps something tragic…

Who owns the land? Well, the correct response would be nobody, but let us not be naïve. All land is owned by somebody, and if you ever stumble across land that is not, tell me about it. If it isn’t held by private hands, the land is in the hands of the government. Governments of all countries own the land just like kings used to own the land in previous times. After all that is why they still call it Real Estate.

So the question is: Should the land be owned by governments and people? In the Holy Bible, the Old Testament, the book of Leviticus (25:23) says: «The land shall not be sold permanently, for the land is Mine; for you are strangers and sojourners with Me.» This is spoken by God one supposes but it was actually written by Moses. Then, in the book of Psalms, Psalm 24:1 says: «The earth is the LORD’s, and all its fullness, the world and those who dwell therein.» This Psalm was written by David, who wrote many of the Psalms. Then Saint Matthew wrote the words of Jesus, who said: «Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the Earth.» (Matt. 5:5).

What this says to me is that we are placed as stewards of the land, we are tenants, not owners and we should treat the land with respect. The land is what gives us life and supports our existence. We might think that because we are born in a country, (everyone is born somewhere yet no one has ever been able to choose the country one is born in), that the country belongs to us. This is a principle of nationalism that leads to chauvinism and war. Not a very positive position to take.

The Earth, as the land in which we live, belongs to God. We are placed here for a purpose. The purpose is debateable, because no one can really say why we are here. We simply exist here because we have been given the gift of life, that is why we breathe and live. But we are surrounded by other life forms, many, plants and animals also have been given the gift of life and they thrive. So I take this as a divine example of sharing the land, not just with our fellow man, but with the animals and plants.

Chief Yellow Lark, a Lakota Indian wrote a magnificent poem/prayer back in 1887 that I truly love and it also addresses issues concerning the land. He says that he wishes his hands would respect the things God (The Great Spirit) has made and also asks for wisdom to learn the things, the wisdom, that God has spread all over the land. In any event, I will share the entire poem/prayer with you here.

Oh, Great Spirit,
whose voice I hear in the winds
and whose breath gives life to all the world, hear me.
I am small and weak.
I need your strength and wisdom.

Let me walk in beauty and make my eyes
ever behold the red and purple sunset.
Make my hands respect the things you have made
and my ears sharp to hear your voice.
Make me wise so that I may understand
the things you have taught my people.
Let me learn the lessons you have hidden
in every leaf and rock.

I seek strength, not to be superior to my brother,
but to fight my greatest enemy – myself.
Make me always ready to come to you
with clean hands and straight eyes,
so when life fades, as the fading sunset,
my spirit will come to you
without shame.

The land of America (and when I say America I am referring to the continent which stretches from the northern part of Canada to the southern parts of Argentina) was the land of the Indians. They held land, sold land, but never thought they were actually selling the land, simply the ability and the right to use it for life and gain…

Pride should come not from being from a land (a country) but from being a good steward of the same. Pride should come from humility, dedication, duty and knowledge. Lamentably nowadays in many countries we see the concept of pride blasted from the mouths of many who do, and are, absolutely the opposite.

Arranca el tambor
dos dos tres dos dos cuatro,
las cuerdas del bajo,
atacando, atacando,
y la sangre te hierve,
te provoca la prisa,
el salto, el jirón,
media vuelta
y deslizas…

Tu figura que crece,
permanece en un trance,
y de trompetas el aire
se llena,
y respiras y sientes cada nota
llenarte,
de la tierna energía,
de la enérgica tierna,
celosa y sensual
agonía,
y del placer de bailar
bajo el sol.

¡Ay que luz,
media noche!

¡Qué mar!
¡Qué alegría!

C.2022, Francisco Bravo Cabrera, 12 de septiembre de 2022, València, España

KIND OF LOVE

She wakes up to a song she’s programmed on her mobile phone
and thinks “this is the day” and wonders where she’ll roam
because the forests own the streets,
and gardens own the elevators…
But keeping with the beat of the song she used to waking up to,
she scrambles to her instant coffee,
adds a healthy shot of bourbon,
skips and jumps and showers promptly,
dresses with the ugly fashion
that they’re now all wearing
in the office, bars and bistros,
she takes another drink and wonders if she’ll end up in Skid Row,
’cause her skin’s already faded,
and her blue eyes?
Lubricated by the thoughts that ravage madly through her mind.
She thought she tasted love
but it was Gin and not too fancy,
and she can’t remember who it was or when,
possibly in the days when she was oh so chancy,
yet it’s not a sin,
in love we all try to pretend…
She stumbles to her flat on Flatbush,
Thinking I’m not drunk just ambushed
by silent shadows that in Brooklyn always wait for love.
A love that no one gives them.
A love that’s quite indecent.
A yearning, burning, prima-donna type of condescending
Feeling like a lump of dry manure,
yet it’s so intense, and quite long lasting,
we all know it will endure,
because it is a colourful and quite alluring kind of love.
Tomorrow she’ll be hanging from a rope she tied so lovingly …

C.2021, Francisco Bravo Cabrera, 12 MAR 2021, Valencia, Spain