Lola at the Coffee House, Cafe 101

Ben Johnson is my favorite among The Cavalier Poets, but Herrick had a wry way which I think is much unappreciated. He could get a little racy, too - for his times, anyway. I'm impressed you know him, george - but not really surprised.

Seasonally appropriate, here's a piece from a lesser known of The Cavaliers, Henry Vaughan - timely in its sentiment, even though penned over three and a half centuries ago. Some things don't change much.

THE TRUE CHRISTMAS.

SO, stick up ivy and the bays,
And then restore the heathen ways.
Green will remind you of the spring,
Though this great day denies the thing ;
And mortifies the earth, and all
But your wild revels, and loose hall.
Could you wear flow'rs, and roses strow
Blushing upon your breasts' warm snow,
That very dress your lightness will
Rebuke, and wither at the ill.
The brightness of this day we owe
Not unto music, masque, nor show,
Nor gallant furniture, nor plate,
But to the manger's mean estate.
His life while here, as well as birth,
Was but a check to pomp and mirth ;
And all man's greatness you may see
Condemned by His humility.

Then leave your open house and noise,
To welcome Him with holy joys,
And the poor shepherds' watchfulness,
Whom light and hymns from Heav'n did bless.
What you abound with, cast abroad
To those that want, and ease your load.
Who empties thus, will bring more in ;
But riot is both loss and sin.
Dress finely what comes not in sight,
And then you keep your Christmas right.

True voluptuaries appreciate the juxtaposition of the sensual, mirthful, spiritual and even sentimental aspects of our natures. Thanks to Timber for a wonderful, timely, and refreshing spiritual piece from old sources that recognized this truth as well.

Now for something sentimental. I really love the old songs of Latin America: from Mexico to Chile and Argentina, the music, both lyric and melody touches the heart in a very direct way. Here is a familiar and favorite old tango from Argentina - "Caminitos".

The song refers to the little pathway (of life) through which the singer walked in happy days -- sunshine, flowers and with his love. He recalls those happy days but notes that the "caminito" (path) is disappearing, "la mano del tiempo tu huella borró" (the hand of time wiped out your track). The singer is saying goodbye to a road that no longer exists, saying -in a somber confession-, that he is as well disappearing. (That which is past saddens me, but I can still see it. It will not return and our footprints are lost. Goodbye)

I don't have the skill to translate and preserve the poetry, but I hope the cognates will make it clear enough. If you are fortunate enough to recall the music & rhythm it is even better.


Caminito que el tiempo ha borrado,
que juntos un día nos viste pasar,
he venido por última vez,
he venido a contarte mi mal.

Caminito que entonces estabas
bordado de trébol y juncos en flor,
una sombra ya pronto serás,
una sombra lo mismo que yo.

Desde que se fue
triste vivo yo,
caminito amigo,
yo también me voy.

Desde que se fue
nunca más volvió.
Seguiré sus pasos...
Caminito, adiós.

Caminito que todas las tardes
feliz recorría cantando mi amor,
no le digas, si vuelve a pasar,
que mi llanto tu suelo regó.

Caminito cubierto de cardos,
la mano del tiempo tu huella borró...
Yo a tu lado quisiera caer
y que el tiempo nos mate a los dos.

Although I can't speak or read Spanish, what you've told us the poem says, george is bitter sweet and lovely.

Thank you Timber for your part and thanks to all who have been participating in the bohemian atmosphere of the cafe. I originally wanted it to be a "place" where poetry could be read, songs sung, dances danced and fun had. And it's evolved, at last, into this very thing. Kiss to all for making it happen.

I have to work today (as I should have been for the last week) so today, I'm going to do it until it's done.

Raised head or no, will someone dance with me as I go off to work?

I'll always dance with you, Lola. And… yes, … it rises. Me and my arrow…

Went with a girl once who liked E.E. Cummings. Ended up not liking her and because of that, and the odd fact that he didn't capitalize the first letters of the lines in his poetry, never read him again. What stupid reasons !

Go to work babe. We don't have time for this sweet stuff…(Hell, I do this in between meetings & calls at work)

georgeob~

What we need is a medieval Lord of Misrule for this holiday season. I nominate you!

Ascend your throne here.

All hail the Lord of Misrule!

Thanks George,

But I am merely a good scribe. I do like lyric things and find it easy to recall and relate them in perhaps unexpected ways. But I don't have the ability to create them out of whole cloth. Your apparently original contributions several pages back are beyond my reach. Moreover there are other creators here as well.

However, 'Lord...' I like that. That's a role I can do. But only for a moment. The real magic of this place is it has no Lord.

You have only to preside m'lord.
There are musicians, players, and jesters aplenty.

And so let me take my lute and begin:
Winter's Song

When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail
When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the Parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow
And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

::: wielding a high-powered handheld telescope :::

Lola.....I'm impressed. This place could turn an exhibitionist into a voyeur.

Bring out the wassail bowl!

I've never had wassail. Is it spicy? Is it steamy?

I'm not sure how authentic the wassail that I've had was, but it was apple
cider (with some other fruit juices mixed in) spiced with cinnamon, cloves,
and such like. It was served heated in a bowl with slices of orange and
spirigs of (I think) mint floating on the surface. I enhanced mine with a
little rum.

Hi Cinnesthesia! Welcome to Wassau's little cafe. Make yourself comfortable. Put on some music, read some poetry or just relax among friends.

I have to work again today, since I was tempted away from my work yesterday, once again by the sunny day in Manhattan. It's sunny again today.......but I WILL do my work. (So what am I doing here?) Good question.

I just stopped by for a little coffee......Wassau how about a little Cognac in my coffee this morning? oh dear I have to work now.

I'll check in later.

And george ..... I agree, there was a time when I too believed that any man with an unquestioned love of the poetry of e. e. cummings was just a little bit daffy. Actually, much of Cummings I read today effects me in the same way. His unnecessary paraentheses and other ornaments annoy me for some reason I can't consciously understand........but, oh .........work calls. I promised I wouldn't play all day. I promised........I did...........

Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before
I swore--but was I sober when I swore?
And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand
My thread-bare Penitence a-pieces tore.

Ah, Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits--and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!

In tragic life, God wot,
No villain need be! Passions spin the plot.
We are betrayed by what is false within.

Cummings was my first favorite poet. I have the book of his complete poems (it's a very large tome, with an index of first lines) .....the parentheses don't have a negative effect on me. [Of course, Dali was my first favorite painter, when I was about 10 years old and all newly excited by the surreal.]

I could use a nice, stiff....well, a drink would be good......I would say it's been a very strange day, but it's still early...

Wassau, Cinnesthesia wants a drink.........something stiff, she sez......do you have any of that?

I think I'll have a glass of wine in a little bit.....but for now, back to work.

I'm rather proud of my original poem from another thread....on which no one commented....so I'll recite it here. Wassau, drinks all around for my friends please.

<Joe Nation takes two tabs of acid and sits, contemplating Lola's verse>