The world is a land where not breathe oxygen, and passion.
The inhabitants of this land, at first glance, are no different from ordinary people,
but they do not live like everyone else.
Above them, not the sky, and the deep,
and the sun burns abandon his name in the hearts of all who raises her head.
This Spain.
Her children - children of passion and loneliness: Don Quixote and Lorca, Gaudi and Paco de Lucía, Almodovar and Carmen.
Federico Garcia Lorca, one of the most passionate poets in the world, once wrote:
"At the dawn be solid green heart.
Heart.
And mellow sunset - nightingale chorister.
Chorister. "
In this - the whole Spanish soul. Sheer heart, continuous singing.
Real, genuine Spain - a flamenco: dance, song, life.
Flamenco compared with shamanism, with mysticism.
In dance, the body and soul, nature and culture forget that different:
merge with each other, pronounces each other.
In addition to dance, this is possible only in a love ...
Silent bird.
Evening comes.
open a fan
Spanish dancer.
sound strikes
Moon of the drum,
and dull, fractional
second guitar.
And black shoes
on the surface of the parquet
steps; it
the wind profile.
Oh, women's dance!
story luminaries
that was
what will not.
About - cast pain
chest and explosion
in the brain, until
the consciousness alive.
It - sorrow space
on the point in the hold,
a vain
considered to be background.
In it - everything threats
hope, death.
aspiration of roses
return to the stem.
In its glow
in any part of the
revenge of the vertical
horizontally.
It - torture glance
through the clouds flaw
zigzag discharge
executes plain.
He - the blood from the wound:
Escape from the body
a landscape without a frame.
Long wanted!
There - more space!
Know steel dagger
who the bride
belonged.
Oh, this dance!
In the space of the compressed
prominence
taken out of the sun!
Frills foam;
its whirling
at the same time
its collapse.
It Scorchling dresses
in its flight
freer flesh
and alien arms.
It dawns sense,
that the universe
fabric does not hold
of sprawl.
About this Scorchling
silks! essentially
descent bare thighs
by parachute.
Zane did not endeavor,
so was extinguished
he is a dancer.
Like souls
so eager flame,
ruined a splinter,
in the air pocket,
trampling reason
Visions of Paradise,
the fact of gravity,
so - expanding
their possessions -
heavenly throne
dress in scarlet.
Since merged with the abyss
Spanish dance.
Joseph Brodsky
artist
Andrew Atroshenko
I feel like I have in my veins,
Melt the heart of a red-hot passion,
Flowing current of crimson fire.
The evening ...
Applied make-up,
Bent spotlight beaters,
You Wait ...
FLAMENCO burned to ashes,
And it will remain just a woman!
Ella Maritimo
