A PLACE TO TRUST THE HEART

Maybe nostalgia is a Rite of Passage, a Passage between a bamboo knot (Arrow) and the next. These bamboo knots metaphorize the phases or stages of life. This development or growth can apply not only to the trunk or a tree, but also to the being and the body, and even to a society or civilization. Applying this idea to the transformation of the island of Ibiza can be fascinating.

The Japanese language is powerful in its precision and beauty, In the description of feelings, Emotions and states of the soul. It is interesting that reading Ibiza story de July Herranz The Japanese concept of "Kokoro" that alludes to the heart has summoned me (Mind -orazón) and to feeling and emotions linked to nostalgia. I have always thought of incredible proximity with our cor, In Ibizan, and that it is not the fruit of a chance. There is a Japanese saying that links key con tokoro And whose meaning we can detach from this reading of stories in the definition of the island of Ibiza as the true protagonist of the same: A PLACE TO TRUST THE HEART.

The island summons a semantics of nostalgia. Feelings that translate into the language and eloquence of the headlights and ports. The longing It is a state of the soul and finds its way of manifesting in music and its silences. Is the vinyl sound, chance, The thirst for the lost?, To name another island poet, The Cuban Eliseo Diego.

As we progress in reading, we perceive that the island – Ibiza – It is not just a great little treasure of nature, but an essence and a crucible of magical thinking. The island is a way of being in the world, an idea that we could well attribute to Heidegger. Who feels that wonderful poison – esa longing – will empathize with her.

These stories give off the glimpse of the path of the elephants (I want to think about the chronotopic articulation of our Phoenician past), whose definition could be those bamboo knots, Maybe that passage or rite of passage – Now – between the years 60 and the 80 To expand it to the present. If nostalgia can be tangible, These stories have the virtue of ritualizing the everyday, that is to say, Cancel the time and materialize it in that needle that now poses on a vinyl disc of David Bowie, Elton John, Suzanne Vega, Who is invoked in one of the stories. It is these vital resonances that call these stories from the honest story of those who confess that he has lived, To say now by Pablo Neruda.

From the heart of everyday life, The stories get the reader to recognize not only in the experiences and arguments that are woven throughout them, but empathize from below: I have also met the "Crazy of Dalt Vila". Maybe not the same "crazy" described in the story, But another with similar characteristics. Thus, The island of Ibiza gradually becomes an essential character and also a vital mirror where we observe, We reflect, We doubt, And above all, We live. The time sewn to each path of the path is. That is why the verse "the thirst for the lost" is inserted into the bowels of nostalgia by configuring that semantics. We will discover, sooner or later, that our decisions have consequences.

When reading about it will see, For example, We can continue reading or can stop at the image a moment. This image can summon the voice of Ithaca or your inner mountain, You can summon Ulysses's gaze or that night you spent with your lover in mid -August dissecting the Perseids with the witness islet. Then you will recoded that you loved a horizon, according to the definition of island by Gran Derek Walcott. There is much return here and much of “Article Salat” Because the island keeps the aleph With the care of magical thinking and who treasures some sensitivity knows – Even if you don't know – Because you were also a Omeros, Even if it was just an instant.

Maybe behind that look with which you cross when walking through the streets of the Navy, There is one of the mirmidones that accompanied Achilles in his assault on Troy. Maybe behind that look is a Hungarian artist who turned out to be one of the greatest counterfeiters in history. Maybe the monk who sold his Ferrari. Maybe Spondau Ballet saxophonist. Maybe Poison singer. Maybe Roman Polanski looking outdoor. Maybe the harlequin you met at Freddy Mercury's birthday party. Maybe Gavin Wood or the best hacker in the world. Maybe a past love or one to arrive. Maybe a woman half bird, half angel, As the first paragraph of the story "El Loco de Dalt Vila" says. It is the aesthetics of a possibility. It is the existential adventure of being another from anonymity long before the digital era and social networks. Creativity and surprise is the essence of glamor. What surprises us makes us feel alive.

I met Freddy Mercury in Ibiza, at 85. Short of stature, But with the aura of a cyclops and the dark brightness of a genius. That meeting convened in my imagination the concept of Heinz Trökes of Ibiza as a delighted island (title of one of his paintings), Brilliant German painter who lived many years on the island of Ibiza, And he traveled around the world carrying the color to all the places he visited. It’s a kind of magic or enchanted island are already an essential part of that semantics of nostalgia. Perhaps the emotional heritage of a previous era (In Japanese natsukashii, Another fascinating concept), He tells us not only of lived and concrete experiences, but also nostalgia for something that has not been experienced, But it translates into that empathy linked to the heart. Is the magic of art.

"What does a girl like you do in a place like this"

This story reminded me that I saw Freddy Mercury again in the 87 in Ibiza, The year of the Festival recording called Ku 92 (Ibiza also 92) where he presented with Montserrat Caballe the world premiere of "Barcelona", Theme composed of Mercury for Olympics. Actually the story speaks of Suzanne Vega, But its context led my imagination to recover my own experience from the text itself. It was a sublime madness in a time and a space where everything was possible.

Nothing is what it was

As the author indicates in the prologue, There is criticism and there is irony in the elaboration of the stories. But there is also caress and caress. Looking back invites us to ask ourselves, again, if everything can be. While everything continues to move towards the next bamboo knot, nostalgia summons purple rain. The sign of the times. The digital age already pushed for imposing itself to the last leaflets of the century whose certainties would soon fall. And this is another virtue of this series of stories. Everything is ephemeral. This process tells us about the beauty that hurts: the ephemeral and absence as members of nostalgia, biting from below. And so we are winding silk in this tapestry that is text and is island. It is not so much an intellectualized memory but that sublime stab because it is painful and pleasant at the same time, because you have lived it – or not. Authentic beauty hurts. It is a feeling -energy forms- that music expresses in a masterful way: Flamenco, The blues, Fado, The opera, etc.

Then, I can't help glimming the palangres that bought Joan Murenu to go fishing squid in my father's llaüt. Since then – Childhood – I have always loved to say that I am looked more than a palangre. The sleepy cat observes the needle scratching the vinyl that Paul Simon's voice gives off: “Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you […]”, While I watched the cover of the UC vinyl side: “On this poor island”.

We have all known some, or many elephants, They have wandered, hidden, transformed, reinvented, cried, laughed, amado, that have died many times and that they have also lived on this path, Passage or passage rite. Rereading Julio Herranz's stories, I get those famous verses of Borges that I play to transform by changing Ulysses for one of those elephants: "I have been Homer; shortly, I will be anyone, / Like the elephant (Ulises); I will all be: I'll be dead ". The island of Ibiza is the path of the elephants as that place to trust the heart.

 

 

Gabriel Torres Chalk

 

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