Jerry Ferraz

 

The word Guitar derives from the sanskrit word gita meaning song. e.g. The Bhagahavid Gita is the "song of God". The gypsies hail originally from India and they were called, in Europe, Gitanos. Gitanes (like the french cigarettes) etc, in other words "singers"and they played guitars. The structure of the guitar evolved from the North African oud (meaning branch of wood) which the Moors brought to Spain. (hence, the idea that the word gypsy is a corruption of E-gyptian) The word lute is a slur of the words la oud or li oud and from the lute they fashioned the guitar. Also sitar is from sita meaning love. She was the wife of Rama in the Indian epic poem, The Ramayana. So guitar is "singer" and sitar is "lover".

Guitarra

This is my dead companion I used to take him everywhere I go Alas, his poor old wooden head It was always slightly out of tune Like a moon When it is almost full His strains were somehow uncomplete Yet like the moon's unstrummed deaf and dumb condition He was light And perfect for the road Ever at hand to cheer me on my way One night I plucked The wild wine-colored rose And the strutting spider's thread lie broken And dreaming only of my guitarra's shape I saw my love Who lies beyond the sea Oh, the gypsy He cannot cross the water For he fears the Duende The fire in his blood will escape! So like a bandit who has stolen my affections The ghost of my guitarra sits in my lap And vainly serenades another And yet another empty glass Ah, guitarra, guitarra Virtuoso amor! You alone You were the last of your kind Did we not say with one voice "Vamanos!" How could I have refused the gift Which only God may give Sweet Youth! Adios! Sa ha ido con Dios (it is gone with God) Oh, how the bones in my fingers ache But sometimes When there is no one left to listen And the barren moon Like a waning memory Repeats her tragic steps Her fabled fiery dance Across my lonesome little balcony Faintly...faintly...who sings? For though these eyes can no longer see My heart, secretly Flies out and tells me That the world is still Very beautiful And that I too was an instrument Of God's holy abandon And to remember this I take up the cross of my companion once again And wander the streets of our beloved San Francisco And when the spirit moves And where the spirits please I pour out my song on some chance Blood-red rose Nailed to these exquisite airs And the Duende weeping whispers Ole! © Jerry Ferraz

Cafe Trieste with friends Jerry Ferrraz at Sacred Grounds Jerry Ferraz ~ Golden Gate Park   more poetry Zen Fable For Philip Whalen Roshi Triptych of poems for Susan Birkealnd Pieta for Tony Vaughan Love Ad Infinitum for Nicole Satori in Spring Slow Train Wreck

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