Japanese memory collection
16 Dec 2019
I met a japanese jazz drummer in Tbilisi, we talked about jazz, about his projects, he was a writer altought a very obscure or shy: he does not translate, he writes for some peculiar magazines.
I undusted my japanese memories from some years ago.
When I was away from my dear friends in Tokyo I indulged myself in jazz bars and whiskey.
Kyoto, 24 of april, 2017
Whiskey, jazz, origami gift from the waitress at the bar, an exchange of words in italian, a small dinner in a small place, the small talks with a drunken group, an annoyed waiter, the italian phone call with a japanese teacher, the incredible silence of the road to my hotel.
The next day:
the temple, the graveyard, the blossom, the twisted branches of twisted trees, an old lady taking a picture of her old lover, me being asked to take their picture together: he was not very please: they were completely in love, they blossom again.
Up the graveyard:
I don’t know any of you
and neither you know me
yet you are at peace
in order
like stones.
Osaka, 26 of april, 2017
It is raining, I am lost in the city, in a bad mood, I rest, I walk again, I eat in a sort of restaurant in which you cannot sit, a naked cat is painted on its walls, I drink Sake with ice in company of old men, I am on my way to a jazz concert, I am already tipsy, I grab another beer.
The jazz concert:
A bass, a piano, a guy who smokes, a very old and elegant lady sitting next to me, a caring waitress: three listeners, two players, one waitress, the jazz.
This are just fragments, too brief too be considered poetic, but they evoke intimate memories, engulfed in smoke, they fade away by each piano note.
“After some years I will put to myself the same question that I answer today as half an ignorant: what is jazz music?
Well, jazz is an hedonistic person, a tiny bit naughty, is a rebel that does not take anything and anyone seriously. It does not get old because is never old. Is not pedantic yet is quite arrogant. Is not presumptuous, does not need to show off to anyone. Is romantic because is not attached to any feeling yet is highly passionate. Is solitary yet enjoys being in a party.”
After my notes I started talking to the lady next to me: she was the owner of the biggest collection of japanese pottery, Mrs Tanaka-Maru.
She financed the concert, we talked about Italy, about art, my friends in Tokyo, about the first ideas that came up to our mind during the intermezzo, her english was as good as my japanese: later, she secretly payed for us all.
She felt like a long distant friend, the one you can only meet in anonymous places, away from the pains of high society and poshy art markets.
The whiskey was excelent, the music superb, the atmosphere similar to the one of a newly renovated purgatory or of a incredible musical limbo: the rest of the city was outcasted, silenced, covered in heavy rain.
The other guy did not stop smoking nor sharing friendly yet silent remarks with his good friend the bassist.
The waitress was the pianist wife, she owned the place.