Three vignettes
(i)
Red roses on dry earth, crumbling
clay
so many surprises in Afghanistan
blood red roses bloom
unexpectedly. pink, crimson and mauve
reflecting the surrounding mountains
at dawn and day’s farewelling
sunset
(ii)
as daytime heat dies with the sun
a breeze remarkable in its coolness
emerges
long hidden in caves, waits for the
dark
to invite the stars on a clear, black
night
blows a gentle tune through rustling
leaves
a lullaby for weary souls worn down
by harsh light and day’s
noise
(iii)
night so black in Badakhshan
darker than velvet with sequins of
silver
stars take on new meaning, distances
and horizons
where Kabul light cannot dim the
ebony of night.
darkest in regions, remote and
unnamed
in mountains and deserts where campfires
remain unheeded as men gaze to stars
as companions and leaders.
Ensemble
Even a one stringed violin sounds
beautiful here
A guitar and accordion can bring a
listener to ecstasy
A long trip, short preparations, then
a performance
Like a bud transforming to full
bloom, full eroticism.
A stage set for dual musicians,
guitar and accordion
At their feet tabla and rabab waiting
for the moment
A slight cadence, gently building,
swelling to roundness
Like a spark bursting into full
flame, full heat.
The accordion whispers, one note then
and beautiful on the air
Fingers moving down, down an across a
bridge, ivory on black
Then full throated and singing in
deepest melodies
Rich, exuberant, powerful. Romantic,
fully sure.
On and on with the guitar in
ascendance and then falling
As the accordion dominates, each
playing to the other
Making love, aching for control,
sensitive
To the improvisations of the other,
each time new.
Then to the stage robed players
stroll, ancient and regal
Red flowers presented in expectation
of what is to come.
Scarlet cushion reflecting the
crimson of the accordion
As it weaves wide, then closed,
spreading and collapsing.
Single displays, applause and joined
by its ancient mate
In new ways, unheard before, unknown
contortions
Together and alone, then another and
the fourth, each
Its own music but aware of the other,
enjoying the rhythm.
In unison, in opposition, each
enjoying the feeling
Exhilarated by the sound which was
not the same as yesterday
New sounds with old, ancient rhythm
and melodies
Cadences unknown to each other,
intervals newly felt and heard.
Building to a crescendo unheard in
traditional houses in Kabul
Experiments of an earlier century in
Paris and Marseille
An audience cheering in as many languages
as the instruments themselves
An encore to guitar and tabla, to
rabab and accordion, old and fresh together.
Writing creatively as Ogiér Jones, Adèle calls Freiburg i. Br. and
Melbourne home.
Professional writing is published under her name Adele M.E. Jones. She has four
published collections of poems, the first, Afghanistan – waiting for the bus published by Ginninderra
Press (2007, republished 2015), with the most recent, Counting the Chiperoni
(Ginninderra Press 2019) written while working in Malawi. She appears
in numerous anthologies including I Protest: Poems of Dissent (Ginninderra
Press 2020). Like most of her poetry, her first novel Desert Diya
comes out of her international and intercultural work.
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