Saturday Cappuccinos: Variations on a Theme.
listening to a record by Lien and Rey
I While the coffee steams the Rubens girl or maybe Botero talks about a film. The rhapsody of the tres that grinds cinnamon while the cellist rises on a note in a tango by Gardel like the foam on powdered milk and the painter draws a giant ant on the wall that crawls minuscule over the sugar. The only thing missing is the aroma of that tropical flower called vanilla I crumble on the cape of an obese Franciscan friar whose flesh overflows the coffee laced with grain barefoot smoking in these cups of virgin ceramic a gift from Tarcila my sister who is no longer with us. It is enough to move the little spoons to the jazz rhythm or conga beat for the fusion to be served up like music. II The girl by Rubens a Frenchman or perhaps Botero a Colombian like the rhythm now sounding in the record cut in Bogota produced in Florida talks about a Swiss film as he steams the Arabic blend Italian style at a cafeteria in Sabanilla The rhapsody of the instrument that comes from Bayamo sprinkles cinnamon from Ceylon while the cellist from Versailles from Matanzas rises like the foam on powdered milk powdered milk from Canada travels up a note in a tango by Gardel Argentineans all three and the painter --dreaming of Greenland-- draws a giant ant on the wall that crawls minuscule over the sugar in the Tinguaro that comes from Indian sugar cane. The only thing missing is the aroma of that tropical flower from America or Asia called vanilla I crumble on the cape white Italian foam of an obese Franciscan friar from Spain whose flesh overflows the coffee laced with soy from Mexico barefoot steaming in those cups of virgin ceramic from Isle of Pines gift from my sister Tarcila who is no longer with us and is everywhere now. It's enough to move the little spoons from Russia above the rhythm of jazz from America or to the beat of a conga from the orient for the fusion to be served up like the music on the record. III I was going to write about friendship and ended up speaking of mixtures or perhaps they are one and the same.
Poems translated by Margaret Randall
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|Date:||Jun 22, 2016|
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