cold dawn slumbers on, unaware
of the baton preparing to strike . . .
dead, forgotten leaves rustling softly together,
declare the threshold of a new day.
this subtle chime awakens one tree,
then another . . . all listening intently
to a mellifluous saxophone melody.
as each bud awakens, another color brightens the sky,
vibrant violet, sapphiric blue, passionate red, brilliant gold.
more and more colors emerge, growing
into an overwhelming explosion of silence.
confidently, bass clarinet engages the dance
the sun's warmth invigorating his steps.
branches lightly graze one another
too innocent to recognize impulsive lust until
english horn and saxophone enunciate
the tango.
saxophone, slicked-hair, smirked-lips, struts forward
english horn steps back regardless, he pursues
faintly, she encourages saxophone whirls elegant horn legs round their melting bodies draw together
spread apart promenading round one another fiercely
eyes melt in fire
lingering hands caressing
every inch of their form
quick flurs
slow embraces passion play of fervor
and denial sensual prurience consumes
their extravagant dance.
bassoons gossip, aghast, first inaudibly
then grow, hysterically. all stop dancing
frightened of intense, forbidden desire.
frightened of a simple dance.
undaunted, one branch embraces another,
bass clarinet requesting trumpet to dance
just once more. indulge
she tries denying herself
careless jubilation
heat of the noon-sun
encourages her
she accepts.
rebellious,
trees resume their dance
now hypnotized,
entranced,
without restraint.
branches mingle,
flute entangles with saxophone.
trees conduct the skies into
frenzied rhythms,
clashing chords,
absolute chaotic dancing
continuously crescendoing
branches become one
twirls, dips,
flutter of skirts,
prancing, cavorting,
dovetailing synchronically,
swiveling hips,
entwining legs,
spinning to and fro,
fierce frenzy,
Caliente! Caliente!
everything blurs together
on the brink of ambrosia, until
suddenly
the sun
starts
setting.
the baton slows, restrains the tango.
clarinet sadly sings as the wind dies
hindering trees into carved figures.
the wind diminuendos, into an almost nothingness
english horn ends the dance – takes her bow –
but still slowly, softly mourning
the end of her exuberant dance
so close to frivolity
mirth
yet, the new dawn will bring more wind
closer to
another tango.
When we dance you and I alone
Moving and turning together
To music of the Bandoneon
The discovery the passion begins to start
Hands holding hearts
Manos tenecia corazones
Another song is danced
To a Milonga rhythm
You give me a smiling glance
To understand the passion of another land
Hearts holding hands
Corazones tenecia manos
When again the violin begins to play
I realize your beauty even more
You pull me close as if to say
Don't think twice
In this dance
We have found paradise
Mi bailarin hermosa
Alfredo Escalero
My Methodist
grandmother said
dancing
was adultery
set to music
how right she was
in that sweet sway
breast to breast and
leg to leg
sin comes into its own
if you have never
waltzed
you cannot imagine
the sheer voluptuousness
of it
the light touch
palm to palm
wool and silk
mixed below the waist
your partner's warm breath
on your neck
coming quicker
and quicker
the strength of the man
the yielding of the woman
so incorrect
so atavistic
so unspeakably sweet
he moves toward you
you back away
he pursues you
and with the faintest
pressure
you encourage him
and watch the blood
rush to his face
not a word is spoken
no one sees this
although it's done in public
in full sight of everyone
you touch
and retreat
meet
and touch again
in time to the music
saying yes
no yes
no yes
no
yes
you dance
without thinking of your body
in that gentle
rhythmic
careless
almost copulation
one two three
one
two three
the longest
foreplay
in the western
world
--- heard on Writers Almanac
what Orlando Messmer said
Your own feet dance this movement to the real.
As I track back in steel stiletto heels,
We mind the gap between vintage ballroom music
And the quiet gaze that drives your ludic
Gait. Someday I'll tell you how live play feels.
But I can't chat, not here: my lips are sealed —
Since you can't dance and talk, our state reveals
The abandoned body, how in its silent antic
Your own feet dance this movement to the real.
How much the pixeled avatar conceals!
All lives require flesh. Playsure does appeal
Yet tango still demands a mutual panic
Of trust by touch. Not to be pedantic,
But think: our unmediated vals anneals
Your own feet to dance this movement to the real.
— femfatalatron, nyc
just tango
Her body moves like silk over me,
around and through me.
There is quiet conversation between
us no one will ever hear, the
sweetest words the world will ever know.
Forbidden lyrics of our lives.
Words of longing, desperation, of lust and love, of
hate and desire...the words burning like
candles into our fingertips, into our shadows,
into our sweat, into our longing.
Our bodies melting into each other...
And we embrace.
She dances as if to live,
and I dance to keep her alive.
Her leg slides naked to the air,
and then rests, waiting.
...and here I hold her, as if
floating, tenderly, closely, precisely careless.
Our embrace. Our dance.
Our moment. Our urgent romance.
Speaking silently in closeness, our embrace of passion,
of desire, our gaze, our conversation.
No words...
just tango.
Travis Michael Widrick
Charlie Tango Whiskey Zulu
When the radio operators wanted to be very clear
just what letter they were describing,
They would say Charlie for "C"
Tango for "T"
Each letter had its own code,
its own demonstration of fullness
Clarity, conciseness, diction unfailing
In time of war,
the radio operator had to untrick the ear,
unstumble it from the thicket of sounds
easily confused on the vibrating drum of ears,
as likely to misunderstand as comprehend.
Because many things in this listening world
are ripe for misunderstanding.
Is that not a beautiful expression on the tongue?
Thinking of my tango dancing girl in the land of Argentina
December 7, 2007
Diane
Hooded in moist steel skies,
Flickers of sunlight, flashes of awe,
Red strands amidst moss green,
Water, fall, foliage,
Where the Columbia confidently
Embraces the Willamette.
-Boyle
"for robertrx"
In grandeur the earth beneath you sweeps
While I stand embarrassed. Terror's cheap
But at mine you offer silver-gilt to gently mirror
Our close red room's soft amusement at my error,
A lack of grace that stings the sensitive to weep.
Yet grace with you is not so rare. It seeps
From chest to breast, infuses bone, flows deep
To call your swinging breath's long signal clearer.
In grandeur the earth beneath you sweeps.
You dance hard parlous near to faith, which sleeps
Alone. In New York the price of self-belief runs steep:
Yes, stammer then to stumble -- that's my horror.
Still, by a whisper, you draw me nearer:
"No fault tango," you smile with mercy free, not cheap.
In grandeur the earth beneath you sweeps.
-- femfatalatron, nyc
TANGO ECHO Quick and agile - dancing Ducaties,
Beginner’s eager embrace,
Lothario’s practiced moves.
Moments lingering for days-
Ghost dances.
-Boyle
Sitting amongst refrains of nostalgia
rooted in past shadows
A walled flower
waiting
Eyes meet,
in trespass or invitation?
Her vined legs unwind
from the seat of familiar
Uprooted
Facing,
With one arm they embrace,
their other stop-sign hands clasp
marking a joined border
of resistance
Transplanted onto this dance floor
soiled with memories,
they negotiate the boundary
of their new, shared space
With each haunting call of the bandoneon,
compelling their circling steps
into now
The insinuating rhythm
unites them with one pulse
and yet
the eternal push, pull
hiding, enfolding
Clinging to the music's strains
drawing them together, apart
this tensile arrival, separation
never quite pausing
in past or future
Just a timeless heartbeat
of sinewed silence
before the music propels them on
Moving as one,
the dancers seek freedom
through their locked embrace,
escape without departure
Echoing the bandoneon's pull, push
Leaving, returning
Mourning, uniting
Into a finale flourish.
Then the tango begins anew.
(dimly remembered past seasons
litter their feet)
yet they dance on
singing for freedom
calling for home
- Vanessa Winn
I don't care about my reputation
what I care about is
shoulders down
heels to the ground
head erect and
core tight.
I don't care what eyes may see
what I care about is
relaxation
intuition
arms embracing
in the night.
Read what you want to
into the slow sweep
of legs around legs, of heels across floor.
For a vision of what's inside me,
forget your hesitation
forget what hesitation's for.
I don't care about the morning after
what I care about is
passions spent
comfort lent
moments in darkness
that feel like light.
October 2007
Jennifer Brandlon
AOL Email Shoes When I can no longer dance, May my shoes continue on. May they please someone As they've pleased me And remind her that I've gone. May they glide with her across the floor In arms so soft and warm, May compliments be sent her way Of their beauty, grace and charm. May she care for them as I would do If time had just stood still. May she pass them along when she moves on So our dance will be eternal. Polly McBride July 2007
Leads in tango are searchers, like musicians,
Who have to find their instruments each evening.
Monkish in dark clothes, seeking insight and inspiration,
They gather in twilight, on well-worn wood, to punctuated melodies. Followers,
How does it feel to have your body become music? -Boyle
This walk, a pivot, a pause,
This meditative movement,
This indulgent endeavor;
Why do we surrender to it?
To bring forth the subterranean,
To reveal to the near-distant dawn,
To the always watching community
Who know us better than our confessor? -Boyle
CARLOS A man dancing Tango - do you want me to tell his age? Look at his slow, soft, tender movements drawing strong, loving, burning pictures of lived passion on the floor. Bringing memories to life: - tenthousand hours of experienced love - valleys darkened by the bitter flood of disappointment - a field of roses smelling the hope of fulfillment. Leading the female his sensual hands are taking care of to its longing, proud, supple singing, becoming one movement of desire. This man is as young as love. Maria
Ten Tango Haiku By Kyoko Richter (translated by Fred Richter) Dancing the tango on a spring day, Blond hair Flowing over her shoulders. Off with sneakers, On with dance shoes – Lilacs in bloom around the house. A chill on the lilacs – A small first step
On a night of tango. Slender shoulders on a Hazy spring night – Tango music. The spring moon, faint -- Hand in hand Toward the moving circle of dancers. Last night's tango music Still in my ears: Picking flowering salad greens. Columbine buds Pointing toward the heavens – Young girls dancing. Deep spring -- Two women Dance the tango! Outside, Tango music behind, The scent of roses. Almost summer – A small room, The quick beat of the milonga.
You made a big impression
With a dress of that size.
Many it would fit
But few could wear it.
You met each gaze with confidence,
The men drawn, the women wary.
This provocative sheath,
Captivated those following its dance;
Your lingering image,
My troubling mind. -Boyle
Broken hearts mend with Tango Come to me Hold my hand in yours Hold me close Let my heart feel your heart beat Hold me close and pause a moment Let's get centered Let's feel the moment Hold me close Let me touch your heart |
