« Buy Me A Scooter | Main | Happy Easter from Hippity Hopkins »


This morning, while working on a knitting project, I'm listening to The Best of The Gipsy Kings. I don't understand a damn word they're saying, but I have always loved their music. It sounds like rainy days and mountains.

The song Montaņa reminds me of when I went to see The Gipsy Kings perform at Northrup Auditorium. It was shortly after one of my uncles had died, and while I didn't understand the song, it made me cry. It felt like they were telling me that everything was okay. That my uncle was fine. That my life would be hard, but in the end everything would be okay for me, too. It was like getting a gift that I couldn't open, but comforted me nonetheless.

Which reminds me of this poem:

by William Meredith (1919- )

Touching your goodness, I am like a man
Who turns a letter over in his hand
And you might think this was because the hand
Was unfamiliar but, truth is, the man
Has never had a letter from anyone;
And now he is both afraid of what it means
And ashamed because he has no other means
To find out what it says than to ask someone.

His uncle could have left the farm to him,
Or his parents died before he sent them word,
Or the dark girl changed and want him for beloved.
Afraid and letter-proud, he keeps it with him.
What would you call his feeling for the words
That keep him rich and orphaned and beloved?

Posted April 10, 2004 10:45 AM | On This Day: 2007 2003 2002