The greatest teacher does not impose an interpretation, but tries to find the way the student wishes to play and to improve the effectiveness of the interpretation. This is psychologically difficult for any teacher, who has naturally developed a set idea of the proper style of playing and of the correct interpretation and the temptation to force this on every student can be overwhelming. Trying to let the student’s personality reveal itself demands a renunciation on the part of the teacher, even sometimes an abdication of taste and of the legitimate prejudices of a lifetime.

Obviously, as my friend said, it assumes, of course, the student has reached a certain standard of proficiency already! (Until you can hit the right note there’s not much point in considering the how and when…)

Comments?

Nevertheless (or perhaps because of this) I find it deeply depressing that when I type ‘tango poems’ or somesuch phrase into Google, with a few extremely rare exceptions, I uncover a swamp of ill-considered, turgid dross. OK, one man’s metre is another man’s cacophony, but there are ground rules. Although tango is perhaps the most improvisational of all partner dances, for it to work, the improvisation must be within a structure and relate to the phrasings and rhythms of the music.

So too in poetry. Whether you’re writing haiku or a limerick, blank verse or a sonnet, there has to be a rhythm, although not necessarily a rhyme. (Even prose should have a rhythm.) Write for yourself by all means, but if you want someone else to read it your words should waken some feeling or emotion in a way that is fresh and exciting. Self-indulgent maundering doesn’t cut it.

When  you dance tango you don’t dance just for yourself, but for your partner and the music. And, in those heightened moments, for the feelings that the music and the instant touch.

I confess I have a problem too with many tango lyrics. Unfortunately I don’t speak Spanish so I’m restricted to reading English translations. Translating poetry or lyrics is a difficult task. Do you stick to the literal meanings, or do you go deeper and try to convey the feelings and emotions being expressed? And there’s the problem, again, of rhyme and rhythm.

I am grateful to those who go to the trouble of translating tango lyrics. Those of us restricted to English at least get an idea of what the songs are about (although the music and the singer’s voice convey as much or more). The result, however, is often as unsatisfactory as translations of poetry.

I love the poems of Pablo Neruda. An internet search will reveal many translations of varying quality. For me, among the best are the versions by Christopher Logue. I call them versions rather than translations because Logue, being a poet himself, has not translated the words and sentences literally, but rather has he translated the essence of Neruda’s poems into something fresh and valid in its own right.

The translation of poetry is a fascinating subject, but I’m getting a little away from my original theme…

Most of the poems I come across which have the ‘tango feel’ are not really tango poems at all, at least not in the writer’s intention. I’ve already mentioned Neruda (and linked to one of his most famous poems in a previous post) so I’ll finish with an example by Theodore Roethke:

I Knew a Woman

I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I’d have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek.)

How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and stand;
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin:
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing did we make.)

Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved.)

Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:
I’m martyr to a motion not my own;
What’s freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways.)

From The Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke (Random House Inc., 1961).

Just tell her what you’re searching for,
She’ll help you track it down,
Then show you where the road is
That takes you out of town.

She plays the songs she loves now
Then dances on alone.
And when the music gets too much
She tells secrets to the ‘phone.

She’ll share your dreams and nightmares
And get inside your head.
Then let the darkness hide her bruises
When she takes you home to bed.

You can hold her, but not love her;
Leave your heart outside the door,
For afterwards she’ll turn to watch
The shadows on the floor.

She’ll tango if you ask her
And relax in your embrace,
But be sure to hold her close to you
So she may hide her face.

Then later comes the dreaming
Touched with tears throughout the night.
She puts the bottle on the table now
But won’t switch on the light.

rjh250211

But tango is more than the music and the dance; there is a rich history and culture associated with it. And for me, the more I understand about that the better. It’s not (just?) about intellectualising an experience which at its best is profoundly emotional, for me it’s about enriching that experience.

So I’ll continue to read and learn about the culture and history of tango, and also about the experience of others who share this passion, and who seek to explore their experience through prose or poetry as well as the dance itself.

I’m currently reading Kapka Kassabova‘s Twelve Minutes of Love a fascinating and beautifully written story of life, love, loss and passion. It should be read by anyone embraced by the Argentine tango obsession, or who wishes to understand something of the nature of this most most beautiful and demanding of all dances. “Hilarious and moving, poignant and occasionally sublime.”

This short film was made by animation artist Em Cooper in response to Kassabova’s memoir.

The man I’m involved with is passionate about Argentine Tango dancing… I mean really, really passionate. When we started dating, he wanted to know if I’d be interested in learning Tango. I was, I am, so we are. What an amazing discovery it has been not only into the world of this man, and Tango dancing, but also into the relationships between men and women.

This is what Argentine Tango has taught me about relationships and love:

=> Argentine Tango is danced in an embrace that can vary from very open, in which the leader and follower connect only through their arms, to very close, in which the connection is chest-to-chest. What is critical in both styles is the ability of the dancers to be over their own axis, or center point in their body to stay balanced… much like a relationship between a man and a woman, where you are not only connected intimately together as a couple, but also independent of each other as well. One of the difficulties I experienced in relationships with men when I was younger was my tendency to build my world around them and to want constant togetherness. Those relationships tended to be short-lived.

In my current relationship, one of the things my partner says impressed him about me was my lack of jealousy around his platonic female friends as well as my understanding of his need to do certain things on his own. Part of the beauty of a relationship between emotionally mature adults is the fact that you can be independent of each other and lead very independent lives. But when you come together, it’s because you want to, not because you feel some obligation towards this person. And the fact that you are independent of each other makes your coming together that much more special, inviting, and engaging.

As often happens the phrases that have teased me for days still refuse to behave and arrange themselves obediently in iambic pentameters for my pleasure. Then something else intrudes and drags me off in some other direction. I suppose the last things I write at night (at least while still relatively awake) ebb and flow around the old shores of the unconscious where their lapping often tempts me to a literary paddle. Or sometimes full immersion.

Then the mind grinds into gear and phrases are coined and flipped onto the page. So here’s a kinda tango song. It’s still a little raw at the edges so any comments would be appreciated.

The midnight bird? Whenever I return home late, usually from tango, there’s nearly always a bird singing loudly, even a little defiantly, near my house.

A Song for the Midnight Bird

When we listen to the songs of the midnight birds
Can we dance to the music and not hear the words?

Sometimes he was leaning, sometimes he was strong.
She brought him some meaning, she taught him a song.

The turn of her body, the slide of her thighs.
The smile that she turns from and hides in her eyes.

She showed him her anger, she brought him her pain;
But he thought he could help her be happy again…

When we fear we can’t cope, we try to control
The things that we find in our heart and our soul.

But the scars that we draw in the dust on the floor
Only shape our desires and the need for much more.

And the moments of passion some seek to condemn
Are as joined to our needs as a flower to its stem.

Don’t ask if they’re wrong, we can tell if they’re right
When we listen to dreams which sweeten the night.

There are rivers we’ve crossed and bridges we’ve burnt,
Lessons we’ve lost and a few that we’ve learnt.

When the dancing has finished and the songs have all died
We’ll know then for certain and feel it inside…

Though we search for the sun, and make do with the moon,
The birds that mark midnight will be back again soon.

Interlude

One moment more
I should have kissed
and kissed her
while songs we’d shared
now drifted into silence.

But though dreams may dare
I walk into a darkening night
hands shaping in the air
what sleights of eye
have captured from her touch,
astonished how so much is drawn
from these brief familiar hours.

Her body silhouetted by the door:
and then she’s gone.
Yet when she’s gone
my hands would know
the stirring of her sleep
and lips remember
promises we may not keep.

And driving home
familiar stars are new
and something leaps
towards the light and you.

Many thanks to Lloyd Spencer for permission to use a portion of one his excellent dance photographs. For details of his book Let’s Dance click HERE.

the way it kisses your face,

and for this dance,

the way it  kisses your heart,

half hope and half amnesia.

Cost is a very reasonable £4.00 (£3.00 concessions) which goes towards the cost of hiring the hall, refreshments, etc.

I’ll be doing my DJ bit again, playing a range of music for dancing from Di Sarli, D’Arienzo, Canaro, Biagi, De Angelis, Troilo, through to Pugliese, Color Tango and Otros Aires. If you are attending and have any special requests, post them here as a comment and I’ll see what I can do.

Yet when, too soon, you leave
and other memories fade
I’ll hold to this,
love recognised and made
touches all who let it,
and in your absence
speaks from the still air
that closes on your passing.

/r