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Literature feat. Music Illustration: Mayo Bous / Magazine AM: PM.

The son musicians

To Nicholas Guillen

In the end, 

after all the words 

after the "act" 

the speech, the flower

ajada of the trova, 

the six black soneros arrived

completely black the flus, they arrived

like six gravediggers in a row,

until they take their places, 

as if they were looking for

in the last quarter of the bottom

to the dead

 

And, resuscitator, 

Broke the Son: Space

It beat again in full glory,

The seeds danced, the bristly

tripaje of the hides woke up singing,

the dry guiro built

the bones of another ear

to listen to the key of granadillo,

to mock the solemn response

of the jar, to stop corruption,

to listen to the tumbles of the only sea

of beauty,

silver vibration,

the being, the sound,

death trickster. 

 

then it was

than the oldest

of the soneros came forward

breaking choir, 

with a jerky gesture,

like someone who scares away a bug

of the body: it was not dancing

that: it didn't flow to the beat. hand raised, 

against the grain of time,

ritualized the gestures

of love: he was grumbling something

to life escaping,

disobedient of zeal,

like a grandfather who gave bumps

to the distracted grandson: to the woman

something warned – beware! – to the jerk

flow, but not quite

he was bothered, like the one who treats

with someone smaller, sometimes

he burst out laughing at his frightening gesture

with the coconut, cradling again

the refrain, the maternal sway

of the saying: "He fell woodworm

to the peacock."

 

complacent

life and death looked at each other

like two old ladies in the mirror

when the soneros arrived,

when the real ones arrived

gravediggers, when they arrived,

when the dark came

ancestral demand of the heart, 

when came what comes back

ripping leather,

without understanding composure

-“He got woodworm 

to the peacock- when they arrived

with old congo guapería, 

scaring away fear

With solemn laughing laughter, the gentlemen

of glory, when they arrived

-oh Son, oh Ser!- the Six Soneros!

 

(Taken from the book Visitations, Havana, Editions Union, 1970)

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