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