Into The Thunderbolt Land (Part 2)

"Whatever arises - know and recognize it to be the wisdom-play of your primordial mind -  Do not become involved in it - do not struggle against it -  simply let it play out and a clearer light still shall shine through -
Rest in this light of non-conceptual original awareness -  Whatever then happens - let it wash over or through you - it doesn-t matter - simply rest within the purity of the light -
Whatever manifestations might occur - they are simply illusions woven of light - woven of the same clear light that radiates knowing consciousness - begins nowhere -  has no end - no middle - no physical existence whatsoever and is as insubstantial as a puff of yak-s breath -
This radiant - non-physical - luminous - timeless entity of knowingness is fundamentally good through and through -  it shines powerful rays of loving-kindness into the ten directions and three times and has actually always been thus - pure - good and radiant - since any beginning you care to posit -  This formless -  glowing - knowing - loving entity has a continuity that runs through and beyond conceptual time and measurable space - since ultimately it occupies neither - being not made of physical substance nor compounded of parts or elements it is immune to the power of the world and resides in a primordial "space" of pure luminosity and knowing -  the original stronghold of the Tathaghatagharba - "

When the Red Guards first started showing up in the rural districts and terrorising and interrogating the locals Lobsang was extremely worried lest anyone found out that he had been in possession of "counter-revolutionary propaganda" as religious materials and almost all foreign forms of journalism and literature were strictly banned by the Party and people who were found in possession of such things were reputedly meeting very grisly fates at the hands of these blood-crazed and insanely zealous youths whose average age was 15 -
These young people had been trained to be utterly ruthless - indoctrinated into a cult of violence and let loose -  to torment and distress the simple peasant population who had virtually no grasp of Marxist-Leninist Social Theory and were much more interested in tending their flocks as they had always done -

"5th September 1904 - Tong Pa Nyi Gompa - North Central Tibet -  During our crossing of the Tsangpo River one of the yak-hide coracles carrying the gear started taking in water and unfortunately one of my note-books was ruined -  Particularly frustrating as it contained the notes I-d taken at Tashi Gompa where I-d studied with the local Lama for several weeks -  He covered a great variety of topics and seemed eager to educate a foreigner like me -  That region of the country is more lush than most of Tibet - with rich forests and canyons in the foothills -  I took many atmospheric walks among the rhododendrons that climbed up into the mist-dripping heights where silver apes could sometimes be glimpsed playing among the trees -
As I recall - Lama Dorje started by stressing the famous Buddhist principle of Impermanence -  the dissolution of all compounded things - objects - personalities - even worlds -
He had a very numerical style of teaching and it is largely down to this that I can recall as much as I can - The Two Truths - (Relative and Absolute)  -  The Three Kayas (Nirmanakaya - Sambhogakaya and Dharmakaya) and the Triple Refuge (Buddha - Dharma and Sangha) -  The Four Noble Truths -  The Five Skhandhas or Aggregates - The Six Realms of Conditioned Existence or Lokas - (Devas - Asuras - Humans - Animals - Pretas - Hell-beings)  -  The Seven Line Prayer (A Tantric Hymn) -  The Ten Bhummis of the Boddhisatva Path -  The Twelve Links of the Causal Chain -
On each of these topics the Lama would give most erudite talks - using the theme as a starting-point from which to dive into an ocean of profound learning - skillfully weaving the various points together so that - even to a foreigner and a beginner like me - the whole elaborate synthesis started to gradually become clear in my mind -  I have to stress how it was not a mere intellectual or academic lecture but rather his whole being was lit with enthusiasm and wisdom as he talked and he seemed to convey meaning beyond mere words -  In fact - as he pointed out to me - in their tradition - they believe it is possible to transmit wisdom from an accomplished yogi to a suitably prepared student rather in the manner of a telegraph transmission (but without the wires!)
The Tibetans are great believers in the psychic life and take it as a given that thoughts can be passed from person to person without the encumbrance of words being necessary -
If I remember rightly he used the analogy of a light that will shine wherever it is unimpeded - Therefore when the monk or practicing yogi has removed enough "clouds of obscuring ideas" from their mind and achieved a tranquil stability through long meditation - the light of wisdom will naturally be seen as there is nothing left to obscure it -
He spoke often of compassion and how that was our inherent nature"

“Dukha is a Pali word meaning suffering – as Lama Dorje informed me – not merely the ordinary suffering of everyday life but also the much deeper suffering that comes from being lost in the Samsaric state of unknowing and ignorance that is conditioned-existence -  Because beings fail to recognize their true nature – their original nature – they constantly blunder around piling up more and more wrongful actions which further obscure their minds to the continuous splendour of their own inherent Buddha-nature –

Of all the sufferings within the six realms of unenlightened existence there is no worse form of suffering than being separated from residing in your true nature – the original nature of mind -  

Since the possibility for confusion is almost infinite in scope – when one meets the Buddha-Dharma in this life it is incredibly fortunate and one should not waste such a rare opportunity to progress along the path of liberation as it may not come again for kotis of kalpas or myriad millennia –

For those of us who through great good fortune have entered the path – the constant sight of the teeming multitudes who wander adrift in the fog of confusion becomes a spontaneous and natural starting-point for the generation of universal-compassion –

Without such compassion for all other beings we could not progress a single inch along the path"

After some hesitation Lobsang Tawa herded up his scattered ideas and realized that if he was going to replace the papers he had found some years ago he had better hurry as the Red Guards could appear at any moment -  This meant interrupting some important tasks on his little farm but he knew it must be done -  Packing a bag of tsampa (parched barley flour) - some yak-cheese and a leather drinking gourd of chang - a weak beer made from fermented barley - he awoke before dawn and headed for the mountain region where he anticipated his rendezvous with a deep-frozen Englishman - "such is life" he mused as his feet crunched the snow under the star-scattered ice-mountains -
To be walking in the Tibetan highlands with a full-moon illuminating the snow-world just before the sun rises is an experience of vast pure and primal space -  a natural capsule to nourish an understanding of the Buddha-Dharma - a place where the raw power of nature dwarfs the human sense of concepts and ideas - where pure nature rules supreme -
Glorious purple cloaks and rags of cloud dappled the immense sky as the earth rolled round to meet the sun again - His family had been in these mountains for millennia and the pastoralist felt an awakening sense of familiarity rising in his breast as he slowly ascended into the moon-like terrain of the plateau -
After a couple of hours he passed a small and ancient-looking gompa or monastery on a ridge and heard the distant chant of sacred mantras and tantric hymns - punctuated with the pounding of drums and bells - and the bizarre and darkly powerful roar and wail of the shawms large and small - sending out their message of transcendental wisdom to the pure skies and snowy peaks that loomed all around 

The seemingly cacophonous shawm and drum music of the Tibetan monasteries is said to be an attempt to imitate the sounds of the nadis during the death-process -  This primal and energetic music prepares the acolyte for the natural sounds encountered during the dissolution-process which is entered into with clear yogic awareness -
Yes - even humble herdsmen and agriculturalist nomads knew of such things in this part of the world -  Many centuries of exposure to the wisdom-culture of the Lamas and Yogis who thronged the country had allowed such ideas to permeate into the culture and scraps of mystical knowledge were common currency here -  The harsh environment had conditioned the people to a tough existence that was never far-removed from the reality of death -  This was also a great source of the compassion and understanding that permeated the philosophy of the people -
Lobsang took inspiration and murmured his own mantras for some time - clearing his mind and focusing on his aspirations as he slowly but constantly gained altitude and the sun rose to greet him in a blaze of golden glory -
After another three hours Lobsang drew close to the area of the cave -  He had prepared himself and told himself that a dead man can-t hurt anyone -  Being forewarned he was not really expecting to be particularly fearful of the corpse he was heading towards -

He vividly remembered the previous time he had seen the frozen body - curled up in a fetal position and partially buried under a drift of fine snow -  The image seemed to become clearer in his mind as he approached the cave - as if it had been suppressed all this time and was now being released -
The final couple of miles were quite hard-going - even for one as acclimatized as he was -  He stopped for a brief break and washed some tsampa down with a few mouthfuls of chang -  Sweeping his gaze around him he took in a wonderful collection of snowy peaks spread before him in all directions -  The sky showed a variety of beautiful colours -  At this altitude there was very little dust in the air and this gives a purity of vision and clarity of view -  At one point he saw a string of geese flying over - heading to one of the mountain-lakes hereabouts - Their lonesome cries in the brittle air resounded and echoed - bouncing off the ice-mountainsides and reverberating through the valleys for miles around -  The only other sound was the occasional rumble of a minor avalanche -  They were fairly constant in the region at that season and Lobsang knew enough about the mountains to usually manage to stay out of their path -  Once in a while he had had to run to one side to get out of their way but as they were fairly small this was easy enough -  He replaced the stopple in his drinking-gourd and got to his feet - ready to finish his business with the past and get back to his village before anyone noticed his absence -  Once more his felt-clad feet crunched virgin snow -

Rounding the last hunched ridge of ground he suddenly glimpsed the cave - high up in the side of a rocky cliff-face -  He started climbing -  At one point an eagle soared overhead - its shadow speeding across the ground - black on white -  wingtips flexed -
Reaching the cave at last Lobsang stepped inside - only to recoil in deep shock -  The body of the dead Englishman that he had last seen ten odd years before - huddled against the wall and looking very corpse-like and rigid - was now sitting upright in the Lotus posture - hands resting on knees -  eyes open and turned upwards as if in deep trance - for all the world looking just like a meditating yogi! 

The Dream Flows Awake

Come in my friends - come on in and take a seat in this Platonic cave of dreams and colourful illusions and chimeras - The luminous liquidescent resinous flow of Rebetiko fills the air - 
This music that is all soul - all Muse - all dance with 9 beats to the bar and thousands of years of culture in the measure - Dripping liquid amber in the voice of Stratos Pagioumtsys and the hands of Vasilis Tsitsanis scatter magic sprinkling dust over the stings of his ebony Olympian bouzouki - These sounds of the soul speak uniquely of a time and place Greek - resplendent in the sun dappled drowze of yesteryear-s 30-s phonograph pine-cone past -  Rippling silver strings drizzle drips of fine treble notes amongst the collected warblings of the Kompania -  The group swoops into song - climbing the irregular pavement of nine steps - ascending to the exalted heights - the fields in the sky -  the golden fields - 

ΜΕΣ' ΤΗΝ ΠΟΛΛΗ ΣΚΟΤΟΥΡΑ ΜΟΥ -

ΣΤΡΑΤΟΣ ΠΑΓΙΟΥΜΤΖΗΣ - 1938 

The Laughing Choughs of the Feathery Roads of the Sky

Fashionably late here is last month-s edition of The Amazing Caterpillar Dub - The World-s Most Popular Newspaper!  Oh yeah!  

Pyrrhocorax pyrrhocorax - Fire-Crow fire-crow

Well they Do say - - -



Wheal Roots - The Greensplat Jynn-Kebber and other Underground Ephemera from Kernow (aka Cornwall)



μπουζούκι

The Caterpillar Laughs

For some years now the elder eldritch lepidopteral lava had been crepuscular-flitting and transmitting the pieces of the Minoan Mosaic Culture to me via mystic meet-ups at the midnight phone-box in Pendoze – Behind the Hump-Me Dump-Me statue - In the heart of the old Jewish Market District – near the wharves where whalers rot unsung at rusty anchor and doubloons rattle in the silt and bilge underfoot – Katapliktikos was the Great Antennaed One as he quixotically and osmotically beamed soft luminous neon blue-white rays from his ancient centres of knowledge and shone them my way – Such was the power of the rays I was frequently stunned and on occasion rendered totally unconscious – only to come to some time later – slumped in the midnight phone-box – some time after midnight now of course and rain rattling on the carapace shell of the tiny glass hut -  Never without the glow of celestial knowing do he leave me before going back to the myriad unravelling ways of the night and the mystic business of his thread-spinning and weaving kind -   In tubular glass vials and philes of philtres he left chemicular imprints of significant finds in the realms of organic-structure and the nature of all things -  On waxen cylinders he left strands of music in many forms and styles for a vast range of instrumental forces -  Jars and pots and chests and boxes of scrolls and parchments he passed on and also glass slides and photographic images in many forms – Keys – cyphers – clues – lexicons and harbingers were left loaded – pointing the way to yet more doors to kick open and unleash the collected forces of many cultures and powers – many magical traditions and shamanic studies were included in the ken of the Caterpillar-s whirling feelers – his sentient all-embracing mind flowed over with cultural knowledge and inside nature knowledge like a mighty fountain that sprayed the pigeons that played at its splashing feet -   Shedding the hasps and masks of identity and mortal conformity he re-emerged and re-appeared constantly in ever-slightly-changed forms – ever aetherial and elusive – ephemeral and insubstantial – more idea than flesh-body – more thought-form than sinew – this beast was composed of the very threads of mind-stuff and knew no such limits as ye or I do know – So to learn of lute and lyre and kindle Olympos-s fire in company with this great ephemeral creature was joy untold and over aeons did he the tale unfold – Ever holding in the folds of his robe a book – a telescope and a globe – therewith to scan the scene and scour the worldly-realme and surf upon the billows of the foamy deeps and bustle free and high among the puffy clouds of cumulus nimbus blue and aether and jazz on in the sunset-s gorgeous dripping scarlet purple honey of a sunset howldrehevel evening on old Kernouac Cornish cliff most high and gritty grained bulwark of Atlantek-s roaring shore -   Zeibekiko he scratched with peculiar charm on the many-stringed lyre he clutched with several of his iridescent exoskeletal arms as he spun the melody in slow sedate largo nine eight shuffle – A noble rhythm for an eagle with wings outstretched or circling vulture high above the mountain-valleys looking for carcass with bead of an avine all-spying eye – Thus did he vouchsafe:

Melting myself constantly –

I dissolve into cocoon silk -

Then I spin again –

Afresh the tale unwinds –

You won-t unravel me by grasping at the thread -

This tale starts at the centre –

                                                                                                        *

Winding country road – Many years ago – Leaves blowing from the trees – Yellow the light of the sun – Rain had been driving in sheets – Mellow the smell of the earth – Birds were returning to song – Scatter the light of the sun – Raindrops on dewdrops on grass – Bush-crickets running for shelter – ants sliding skilfully down their holes – Rabbits are running for cover – Thunder breaks dark clouds in two – dark covers over the sky – coolness fills into the air – breeze softly mumbles around – leaves stirs about on the ground – windy and starting to rain – drops big as coins hit the ground – Ears of the forest look round – eyes that have listened to the ground – Skin that has smelt all the ground – whiskers that twitch with the sound – listening the forest around – creatures are stirring in sound – breath coming out of the ground – badgers are mulling and brooding – snorting and snuffles and grunts – badger-breath sticky and hot – Fly hiding under the leaf – glistening radiant eye – shiny the carapace glows – thorax and feelers as one – Well the moving of the morning was unfolding and the waters of the ocean were all seething with scintillating light the waters dancing and all around the winds were softly singing and the hearts of countless people lifted upwards and the rain of light fell gently on the people and the laughter of the throngs was like an ocean and the dancing in the streets was like a heatwave and the singing went right through the flowing morning and the fires still burnt on by nightfall-s darkling and the sparrow and the starling were rejoicing and the ivy was entwining with the elder - 

Print - Cut centre-slit - fold into your eight-page miniature edition of The Caterpillar Dub (This month-s edition features The Luminous Three - Sakyamuni Buddha - Quan Yin and Lao Tsu)









melting from the edges - the surface dissolves to leave only the radiant centre - 

Ahead Of Thoughts

A baglamas and a travelling guitar balanced on a menhir - a fallen and ravaged menhir - tewlwolow dusk on Halloween -   just an everyday scene in the Shyre where the ancient past is right there with you to help you along your way - 

Ο ψαράς - O Psaras - The Fisherman -

and awareness is right there in your hands - - -

The Archaic, The Brythonek - Inscribed on the Heart of the Land

*  Glyphs 'n' scriffs encrypted on slivers of silver mythological spliffs betwixt a Gryphon's lips exude ear-splitting licks, riffs 'n' silly tricks, still it's only with a smile so it helps to be sunny on a day like this.  **  Leaves fall - rain falls - stars fall - flesh falls - epochs fall - rains fall - seeds fall - dew falls - light falls - sun falls - radiance falls - breeze falls - a leaf falls -  ***  Hymns in homage to hunros, oneiro, reverie and dreams dream itself - lulled and hypnotized into hypnogogy by the feathery hands of Peristeris, the 9/8 rebetikou guitar-man with the mercurial rippling zeibekiko guitar runs - ****  So anyway, there I was, walking down the road  *****  Visions from another brother, visions of the yogic, the aethereal and the hypnotic sacred mystery awoken by the Shaman's rattling snare-drum - ******  

The Notorious Byrd Brothers...

Hear the great Greek guitarist and composer Peristeris (The Dove)....

Fougou!  Visions Bone Well Quercus robur QVENATAVCI IC DINVI FILIVS Druids  Mind itself

The Caterpillar No.100 / An Gath Vlewek 100 - Oh Yea, Oh Yea, Here Ye The News! (Calling The Carapaced Muse)

Well a ripple forms up out of the aether and up rises The Caterpillar, lost in the fog again.  Where have you been?  What have you seen?  What have you to tell of The Shyre and it's perpetual dream?  Many leagues have I laboured and many versts have I vaulted, faultlessly vaunting a Raven's crawk, I rattled back to town and blended in with the sleepers.  Now I drift among them, a globose and gelatinous thing of the night, putting cats and dogs to fright with the fire in my jelloid orbital eye. Back from the Ancestral Lands where Spirits seethe in blissful ecstatic writhe, churning in a sea aethereal and glassy I brood gothic and austere, as lichen clings to the unspeakably ancient rock.  Moss my bed and granite ivy and rooks for a pillow of illusion, dew-drenched and peeped at by wrens.

From the soul of your scribe streams a scroll of jive, freely given with aethereal fingers five, a pympbys starfish is a five-fingered hand - left hand stranded on the spindrift sands till time waves a hand holding a magic wand and oceanic billows crash - the thought-waves of a sea of mind.

Yes me friends, let the sun stream into your hearts, the jewel-like crystal images into your minds - from an autumnal hay-field blows a golden breeze bringing a gift from the Goddess of Harvest, the richness of the Dreamland, scattered to the breezes of summer's end.  A tear trickles down the marble face of a Karyatid and a faughn shivers in the morning dew.  Light glistening through a clear glass flask onto a pure flower of violet - memories of a youthful idyll, a bliss of the mind, a blessing, a wish, a dream, globules, crystaline fragments and jewels of the inner-lit-mind.  Poetry poured from the horn of the proclaiming piper, a figment at the Gates of Dawn, wrapping his purple cloud cloak around shoulders of shimmering bronze, towering, ancestral, imaginary, wrought of jade, ivory and mother-of-pearl, you ride the Keltek breeze and guard the souls of the tribes of old, your eye sweeps the ocean deep and scatters souls to sleep.  

How To Be A Mad Artist

an exercise in spontaneity.... 
Step One:  Make up some weird stuff...
Step Two:  Present it in a hyped-up fashion
Step Three:  Hype it further like it really matters
Step Four:  Harvest the cash, prestige, mojo, vibe, fruit, whatsoe'er 
Step Five:  Step One
{Secret Step Six}  Pretend to be a starving artist and pay no taxes, whilst quietly syphoning off vast funds from wealthy patrons and donating it all to the West Penwithershins Liberation Front, or similar...
Well it all started when I was walking down the road one day, it was a long road, a hot day and a crystal sky threatened to shatter over my head with ten thousand broken jewels - what was I to do?  I could only stare in amazement as swifts flitted flimsily forth, ephemeral feathers flew, from egg to branch, from station to station they flicked, from Africa to Penwithershins, Tallcarne, Mount Misshap and on they flew, passing on to Ireland, trasna na tdonnta and over the waves, tramor, tramor anmoreagain...

ΜΗΤΣΑΚΗΣ ΨΙΛΗ ΒΡΟΧΟΥΛΑ ΕΠΙΑΣΕ

So there you have it and now you know...  To keep abreast of all the latest developments, subscribe to The Caterpillar Dub - it won't cost you a read-scent.

Lepidopteral Nichtiplanctus

Noctambulistic nichtiplanctus.  You have to count everything in nines.  That’s the secret.  They have take-outs and tekes – take your choice.  Choose your toke.  Take a choke.  Crack a joke.  Shake like a jelly and watch the tsifteteli. 

Stou Thoma To Magasi From The Rebetiko Movie

Ρόζα Εσκενάζυ - Χόρεψε μου τσιφτετέλι

Ροζα Εσκενάζυ - Μας κυνηγούν τον αργιλέ

Στελλάκης - Ρόζα: Μάρκα μ' έκαψες

"Μάρκα μ' έκαψες" ή αλλιώς "ο μάγκας και η ρόζα".
Το τραγούδι είναι σύνθεση του 1933 απο τον Ιάκωβο Μοντανάρη.
Τραγουδούν ο Στελλάκης Περπινιάδης και η Ρόζα Εσκενάζυ.
Στις κιθάρες είναι οι Σπύρος Περιστέρης και Κώστας Σκαρβέλης

Σα φουμάρω τσιγαρλίκι Στελάκης Περπινιάδης 1935

Tectonic Horn Shell

A series of old photos showing  

protocols 

among pigeons, owls, feathers, bucks, fowls

eggbirds of the starry night’s rustling feathered web                 * * * * * * *

Eldritch and monotonous moans

swirl lurk bloom

barking like wolverines

among the nipple-mountains of pale wood-cells

stark blasted forests

shattered mountains

fragmented and writhing seas

darklight skies

& Auricularia auricula-judae

gwynjak yw hethyw

look to the sky

hurling her visions

through 

your 

awareness

Το φιλί δεν είναι κρίμα
- Βασίλης Τσιτσάνης

Πίνω και μεθώ - Κασιμάτης

(Οφ αμάν) Συνθέτης Περιστέρης Έτος ηχογρ. 1934 

Πίνω και μεθώ, οφ αμάν, μέρα-νύχτα τραγουδώ, οφ αμάν

Μέρα-νύχτα τραγουδώ

Και το ντέρτι μου, οφ αμάν, στο μπουζούκι μου ξεσπώ

Γένηκα μπεκρής, ωχ αμάν, χασικλής και μερακλής, ωχ αμάν

χασικλής και μερακλής

Γιατί όλο λες, ωχ αμάν, κούκλα μου πως δε με θες

Τα ματάκια σου, ωχ αμάν, και τα κορδελάκια σου, ωχ αμάν

Και τα κορδελάκια σου

Με τουμπάρανε, οφ αμάν, και με κογιονάρανε

γειά σου δερβίση μου Ζαχαρία γειά σου

Πώς μου τα 'φερες, οφ αμάν, και μου την κατάφερες, οφ αμάν

Και μου την κατάφερες

και μου το 'σκασες, οφ αμάν, μέ το μάγκα το 'στριψες

(γειά σου Σπυράκι μου με το μπουζούκι σου)

Θα 'ρθω, Μια Γλυκιά Βραδιά 
– Στράτος  Παγιουμτζής



Clustering galactic jewel-net             sterennek

     

     the thought of the jewel is the jewel 

               flags wave in the wind, mind

  Πίνω και μεθώ  -  Κασιμάτης 

           

          turning world most dear

   the following a furlong:  shafts of sunlight luming the cool waters of the pond;  verdant path a tunnel of summertime green;  purple cobwebs of glowing coral cow-horn shell-horn horn of the sea and corn of the prairie pod pea;  humus loam subtle bonfire waft, rotting sycamore leaves, rooks cawing and carking;  the tolling of a bell, crunch, crisp, snow, windmills and dust and valour;  

                  Ocean of mind; sea of space 

           pale orange sunlight on faded brickwork;

         the distant hooting of a hooter,

            lowing cattle;  water-meadows;

          cowslips, cowlicks, cows, bullhorn                           rumblers 

                 dew-drop drip from a fern and 

                     fleck the hoof of a fleeing faun

Elder Mountains of the Moon

The elder mountains of the moon

loom 

the bark shrunk

breasted with nipples   clusters

ranges and fissures 

stark

no bark

left

jews ears wobble

gwynjak yw

white bones rattle the sky

hollow-fluted old one – why?

ΠΙΝΩ ΚΑΙ ΜΕΘΩ - ΡΕΜΠΕΤΙΚΟ ΣΥΓΚΡΟΤΗΜΑ ΘΕΣΣΑΛΟΝΙΚΗΣ



Παγιουμτζής-Περπινιάδης-Το φιλί δεν είναι κρίμα



Θα 'ρθω, Μια Γλυκιά Βραδιά - Αθανασίου Αθανάσιος



Over the Garden Wall – The Carter Family



Chewing Gum – The Carter Family

hollow-fluted old one - why?

Bagla Reverb

Same sun – different splinters- shattering shadow’s realm with photon-haze raking at the day’s rippled perimeter.  Footsteps echo the tinkling of a tiny lute.  Concealed now, slipped under the overcoat and swallowed in its fold, the song-bird nestling within.  Looking forward in sunny yellowed time we find our footsteps wandering along alleys and wandering byways – bustling quays by the sea.  Winding lanes with cellars and taverns.  A whirling zeibekiko emerges like a Dervish through the echoing teke door and we find in our footsteps we’ve been here before.  These echoing zithers, tinkling finger symbolic zelia and tapping darabukas- yawling karamusas and mellifluous clarinos-  and the guitar, bouzouki and baglamas of the Piraeus-style zeibekiko 9/8 sound- rebetiko’s early chant punctuated and decorated by the ethereal and shimmering bagla – surely one of the most mystical and enchanted instruments ever to be given to man by the Gods…  

Rebertiko Movie:

More on Rebetiko from ‘The Caterpillar’:

http://yecaterpillar.blogspot.co.uk/2010/10/blog-post.html

Baglamas - μπαγλαμάς

Dazzling in mottled sunlight, shadowed by moonclouds, moving through misty dockside streets – something under his coat- a miniature lute.  Overcoat-cautious he glances round, pencil-moustache and trilby hat.  Sunshine’s soon shaded as he takes an alley and then another.  Starlight sparkles fresh as he winds through the maze.  Then a door swings open and he steps into the teke…..  Now the Baglamas can chirp like a grasshopper…  

ΟΙ ΜΠΑΓΛΑΜΑΔΕΣ, ΣΤΡ. ΠΑΓΙΟΥΜΤΖΗΣ, ΣΤ. ΚΗΡΟΜΥΤΗΣ 1946

 

At the Teke – A Scene from the movie ‘Rebetiko’…

http://www.nine-eight.com/article3.html

Baglamas:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EQPt1cziPxM&list=PLkMZb0s_TYEarjnbS1SAN4FkS2ufdDt9u&index=1

μπαγλαμάς