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A year without Manuel

took nearly a month trying to make brief notes, notes for the anniversary of his death. He outlined four different pieces and all you've done is blur the ink pad and spend. I can not, I get.

Donosti At less than twenty days had blue and white flags in many windows and balconies and thought " This time, Manuel; this year yes." I turned to the ritual of going home Vallés as a decade before knowing that he also liked and expected return. I ordered a Gilda in his honor. The deep sadness of the previous year had passed and toasted him with txakolí. Would have liked to be in town for those days.

The pain has subsided and the tenderness and time have been wearing away the memories to make them even sweeter, but still can not put into words his absence. I get no I can not.

I would have liked to talk on the phone talks frequent during the past four months, their chatter that demonstrated their desire to live. Of laughter, of tenderness, of hope. Invitation to Lola's house and he in Palma on several occasions. In the "discussions" about music. So many things that were left to say because there was no time. Projects and events that did not happen. But I can not come out.

This time the music will be short and simple. Needs no introduction. Speaks for itself and performers who would have liked. I'm sure.

I trust you will excuse the brevity and poverty of the entry just today that the reason the extension was worth and wealth of words. But it is precisely now and I can not leave me.

I miss her so much ...



Txuri urdin . Hymn of the Royal Society. Performed by the Choir of San Sebastian. Retrieved from the web page by Ignacio Perurena. (See letter )


Jojo - Jacques Brel. In album Orly. Barclays, 1977 (see letter )

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Back to normal Brief

Ar-Men. Guillaume Plisson.

With one more year. With more weight and darker skin due to wind and sun. With more mileage on his back. More scenery and more stones and more knowledge of new friends in the eyes and the mind ... With ears happy for more air and more silence. More alive. More serene. Happier. More ..

Back. Embedded in the sand beach and eyes. With the camera in blue water or wet gray that comes and goes as you're not careful. With his mouth still tasting Gothic abbeys, Norman churches on the edge of the beach where the dunes are lords of rock. With embroidered cities and beams whitewashed houses, narrow, high and steep pine nuts. With cheerful mind recognizing smells and tastes and music that was lost in a balcony of memory. With the front profiles and contrasts discovering and breaking waves ... Tired

physically slight and one soul. Relaxed summer plans and starting projects. Uproar of reunions with old friends in the early morning calm and walks two before the pool. Loaded with books and songs that I hope to crumble in recent months ... Prepositions

... participles ... adverbs ... Ada ... of ... -Ida ... more ... with ...

But above all, with the verb in active voice and the causal conjunction ... Because I still have what I caught with the senses, brain and legs. Because the rain of Cancale or La Rochelle coup swept the blunders, the crying and passivity ... to and for ever. Why shut up, drank, lived and enjoyed. And with the conjunction learned to unravel sadness and anger and build Breton lace loops moebianos with the thread of the peace, laughter and peace. And because I went to the duties facts and well made. And here some proof.

The well is blinding and clogging. Definitely.

's turn now to the infinitives and gerunds and new connectors. In order not to slip back, or to a fall, or to complain about me. Having been able to put the lid and fill the void of dark moss and pebbles, stones or menhirs filled with sand. Flattening, crushing, leaving the smallest glimmer of the false hole. And inch by inch up as the strength of the stone is forming a ladder without fall. To reach the top, to the top. A mouth. The well and the words and kisses. And replace deep and prominent nose of the lighthouse. Breathing hard and better and deeper. And on the surface. Leaving splash by rejecting the rock remains in the skin wet lime or stone. Anchored in the depths of pink granite rock or quartz. Shouting into the wind, to stand up to the night, spinning with her arms as opposed lenses and a fierce light ... again and again ... over and over.

Old New. Light Gorda. Passive-Active. Mouth-Nose. Well-Faro. Mud-water sea. Down-Up. Ida-Back.

The Countess then takes up the papers. Open windows and doors wide and airs the blog. No more mourning. The house is dressed in white and green and blue or yellow. And all of you are invited the reopening. Do not worry about the outfit or the facade. The important thing is to come and bring about the word, a smile, ear. Coffee will be served in no time in the classroom. If they want to bring sandwiches, canapés, cakes buns or Arabs can organize a revival snack conditions. And until they can dance if you like that, as usual, no music. The trumpet is the left shift to tedesco but for once, without a precedent, let them now through the tube. Yes, the ingredients at your expense, herbs or strawberry liqueur, beer, txakolí, sherry, Montilla ... What will they please bring welcome. Enjoy

the concert and come quickly cools the coffee.

JWHertel (1727-1789). Trumpet Concerto in E flat major. I Allegro, II Larghetto, Vivace III . Maurice André, trumpet . Inglés Chamber Orchestra. Dir Sir Charles Mackerras.
EMI, 1985