Friday, November 8, 2019

A poem to my friend and magnificent musician Helena Espvall - tribute narrative to Bela

Helena Espvall

- 30...
- 10...
- 23...
- Are you listening to me?
 These questions were posed by you to me.
 I suddenly was lost in the plot about what was and what was not...
 I was listening to Helena in a playlist...
 She told me that it was her performance setlist...
- Iva...
- Fever...
- Bittova...
- Ray...
- There was a rainy day...
- Lisbon was a movie...
- It wasn't groovy...
- Bergman...
- Pen...
- Ingmar...
- Star...
 I wasn't understanding nothing at all while listening to Helena by The Fall...
 There was a Cello...
 It was her fellow...
 There was a Violin...
 It wasn't green...
- Voice...
- Choice...
- Act...
- Fact...
- Wenders...
- Wim...
- Kim...
- Wings...
- Tone rings...
 I was telling you this...
 You answered me this way:
- Man, it's hard being art...
- Man, it's hard being a part...
- Swedish I am...
- It's written this somewhere with a pen...
- It seems that I'm Vikings descendant...
- Maybe we aren't a lost pendant...
- Lisbon is harmony...
- Just stare at that lovely tree...
- There's green...
- You know what I mean...
- There's comic books...
- There's looks...
- There's music everywhere...
- There's TV series that pop out of nowhere...
- There's pride in some ride...
- There's Scandinavia as a pagan nation...
- There's poetry in motion inside an Ocean...
 I listened to your full album...
 It had an awesome atmosphere...
 It was more than joy...
 It was more than a mere toy...
 Without me knowing what to tell you...
  I've told you this:
- Do you remember an interview that I made to Iva?
- She's no diva...
 You sent me your latest album to listen...
 I was paying close attention to every single detail...
 There wasn't a single fail...
 I've told you this:
- Helena, you're bliss...
- You always know to where the wind hiss...


Me and my love Elena reading a Julio Cortazar book 






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