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Special features. Antonio
Canales's Musings
Antonio Ruiz Soler. Sleeping. Keeping watch
Antonio Canales. Seville, August 2003
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Mientras despertaba
aún tambaleante en la luz
recordaba
Dormido esta noche te vi bailar
como una mariposa vibrante
ondeando por los cálices
las corolas
Libando y abandonando el néctar
salpicándonos de rocío
Centelleaban los colores
en el blanco
propagándose como un perfume
A veces, posándote en el vuelo
indolente nos mirabas
Gracioso y evanescente sonreías
centrando dos pupilas fulgurantes
muy cerca
y desde el otro lado del mundo
Después
soñé que conmigo soñabas
Ya no supe si dormía
o eras tú quien en mí despertaba
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As I awoke
still swaying unsteadily in the light
I recalled
In my sleep last night I saw you dance
like a vibrant butterfly
fluttering around the calyxes
the corollas
Sipping the nectar and fleeing
sprinkling us with dew
The colors gleamed
in the whitenes
sspreading like perfume
Occasionally, alighting gently
you looked at us indolently
Graceful and evanescent you smiled
fixing two shining pupils
so close
and from the other side of the world
Afterward
I dreamt that you dreamt of me
Then I couldn't tell if I was sleeping
or if it was you who was awakening within me
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Antonio dancing with La Uchi (Photo: Toni el Pelao's
photo album)
The name Antonio,
when it is spoken, is synonymous with dance. It would be bold of me to attempt
to sum up his life in a few words, since this remarkable man was not brief, and
he certainly cannot be squeezed into a few sparse, simple lines.
A lot of things link me with him, we share the same name, we were both born
in the same city, Seville… life's little coincidences.
He was the one who rescued me from the old venue Tablao de Los Cabales and
opened the doors for me to the Ballet Nacional de España. I also had the
honor of dedicating my production 'Torero' to him, his last appearance at a dance
première. To him I was "his little Antonio".
That unforgettable night, I remember the most dense, overwhelming applause
I've heard in my entire career. Among those present there were personalities of
every description, who I'm sure will never forget that unique moment. At home
I have a beautiful painting he gave me, and I keep his mementoes locked away in
a drawer which bears the inscription 'Dance lives here'…
Your memory brings to mind the fragrance of spikenard, of jasmine and geraniums
in bloom; like the peel of a bitter lemon I'm swathed in your memories. I felt
like a child nestled in your arms and I grew under the watchful gaze of your spellbinding
eyes, swimming in the uncertainty of your expressive, delirious pupils. Like an
awkward colt I galloped within an inch of your elusive rear and was dazed with
tiredness and stunned by the constant surprise of your galloping pace of life.
Your arms have a mysterious, dream-like quality, wrists twisted in anguish,
your fingers like poisoned orchids, ate into my soul eager for love and dance.
You filled my breath with sighs the rest of my days, and still you continue to
pound at my temples, numbed by your absence.
You dream of saffron moons, you ride with metal spurs, which to the rhythm
of martinetes you forge on the back of the wind, the intimate words from the heart,
your sharp voice...
Antonio, today we salute you, teacher, father, friend, genius... child, old
man, lunatic, of sound mind... harlequin who lashes at the wind, for ever more
you Dance, Dance, Dance...
Chocolate with Antonio el Bailarín,
Carmen Amaya and René Heredia
magazine@flamenco-world.com
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