Crying

Talking to plants is said to help them grow beautiful. Probably it helps also women to become more beautiful. We should talk to women, let them know how special they are, how beautiful we find them. Even if they don't believe us, or don't listen to us, or even if they are not conscious at all. At least, this seems the message of Hable con ella, a touching film of Pedro Almodovár that I happened to watch yesterday. I must admit, the theme is controversial, loving a vegetative woman, helping her back to life, despites everything, it is something it can keep public debats going on forever. Almodovar has chosen the way of art, and through dance, poetry, music and corridas walks back and forth through life and death, desperation and love, meaning and vanity. I must admit I cried, abudantly, watching the movie. Maybe it was smile of Benigno, or the breast of Alicia, maybe it was dancing Café Müller, or the dove of Caetano Veloso, but I could not help it.



or I was just envyous of Marco, who was able to cry at every manifestation of beauty.

Dicen que por las noches
no más se le iba en puro llorar;
dicen que no comía,
no más se le iba en puro tomar.
Juran que el mismo cielo
se estremecía al oír su llanto,
cómo sufrió por ella,
y hasta en su muerte la fue llamando:
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay cantaba,
ay, ay, ay, ay, ay gemía,
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay cantaba,
de pasión mortal moría.
Que una paloma triste
muy de mañana le va a cantar
a la casita sola
con sus puertitas de par en par;
juran que esa paloma
no es otra cosa más que su alma,
que todavía espera
a que regrese la desdichada.
Cucurrucucú paloma, cucurrucucú no llores.
Las piedras jamás, paloma,
¿qué van a saber de amores?
Cucurrucucú, cucurrucucú,
cucurrucucú, cucurrucucú,
cucurrucucú, paloma, ya no le llores