Flamenco

Clapping hands, stomping feet,
castanets and a voice, accompanied
by an acoustical guitar recall gypsies,
Arabs, Jews and indigenous Andalusian,
a people, who were all but forgotten.

The music of the poor and oppressed,
cante, palmas, toque, zapateado, baile
keep this dance for the people
take it to the stage, make it famous.

Evolution of rhythms, stanzas and ambiance
becomes the opera for the Spanish
can be found in the homes, on the streets,
in cafes and theaters across the land.

Gypsies, Arabs, Jews and indigenous
Andalusian, a music for the people
can’t be danced upon the sand, hear the sound,
feel the beat, express it with your feet.

Keep this dance for the people
take it to the street, let it
awaken forgotten memories.

A lone dancer and drummer
still attract a crowd
listen to the beat, hear the drum
keeping time with the pounding feet
pad da dap, dap, pad da dap, dap.

Classical and traditional
an attitude from the people
who know it in their bones
a passion, generations old
pad da dap, dap, pad da dap, dap.

A single guitar and singer
capture flamenco
in a stream of musical notes
in the shadows of a late afternoon
Ay ye yi ye ye, Ay ye yi ye ye.

The song, reminiscent of a call from Mecca
heard across desert sands
echoes in the land of Israel
music from the gypsy camps
and the indigenous Andalusian.

Many years of sorrow
passion still simmers in the embers
a call to battle for what matters
it’s all in the dance mi’jito
learn the steps mi’jita,
it’s all in the dance.

watercolor painting by drice