i. The Dulcimer Player (Toledo)
The tune, unknown to me, must have been old—
its phrases answering each other neatly,
its contours those of well-known stories told
with native confidence. She was completely
absorbed in it, seemed unaware of those
who paused to listen, her eyes on the strings
from which she plucked bright highs and dulcet lows
as piously as priest or cantor sings.
The grand cathedral only steps away
held precious crosses, statues, mysteries;
her poor man's harp moved some of us to pray
with gratitude for earthly victories.
And some heard solace, lilting antidotes
for grief, in her devoutly summoned notes.
ii. The Street Violinist (Madrid)
You don’t make much dinero there, she said,
with vino-tinto-slurred exasperation,
but he picked up the small black case and fled
toward downtown—and not much remuneration.
He knew that if he played there for a while,
the passers-by would listen, gratefully,
and some of them would nod or leave a smile
along with coins, and then just let him be.
They wouldn't see the flaws that she deplored—
his lack of wit and shrewdness and ambition;
there on the street he might not be adored,
but he'd be heard, and thanked without condition.
Years past the last time love lit up her face,
he finds more warmth outside the tapas place.
iii. The Guitarist (The Albaicín, Granada)
At dusk, just through that keyhole arch, he stands,
head bowed and back against the wall—alone,
but not quite: wood and string in his strong hands
respond to his embrace with blood-warm tone.
And now the evening knows how to begin:
the air can cool and learn again to float,
the fading sun can yield to its mild twin,
and calm can reclaim souls with every note.
The man plays Spanish music—heart-bent sighs
that fill the gaps between the cobblestones
and soften whitewashed walls and fill some eyes
with grateful tears and settle some tired bones.
The man just through that keyhole arch unseals
the secrets with which evening soothes and heals.
Jean L. Kreiling is the author of three collections of poetry; her fourth will be published later this year. Her work has been awarded the Frost Farm Prize, the Rhina Espaillat Poetry Prize, and the Kim Bridgford Memorial Sonnet Prize, among other honours; she lives on the coast of Massachusetts.