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stonepicnicking_okapiTitle: Duende
Fandom: The Old Guard
Pairing: Joe/Nicky
Rating: Gen
Length: 400
Prompt: Yahtzee Roll #2, #3: duende
Notes: Duende is (among other things) a concept made famous by Frederico Garcia Lorca in a lecture he gave in Buenos Aires in 1933. It is 'a heightened state of emotion, expression and authenticity' often associated with dance, music, and recitation. A translation of the lecture in English is available here if anyone's curious. Outsider POV.
Summary: Buenos Aires. 1933. A boy sees two strangers dance-fight in a courtyard.
My uncle Marcelo talks of many wonderful things, fantastic things, mostly, the things he learns in university. My father dismisses his talk, preferring to discuss nothing but football and fish, but I like to listen to Uncle Marcelo.
He attended a lecture the other day by a famous poet on something called duende.
Duende, the poet says, is ‘a mysterious force that everyone feels, and no one has explained.’ He says it comes out of dancers and painter and poets when they reach within themselves and bring out something true and dark and pure. It was all words to me, beautiful words, but just words until the other night, when it was too hot to sleep and I crept out onto the roof for some air.
All was dark and quiet until down in the courtyard, two men arrived. One of them was singing something. Then he took up a stick and waved it in the air like a sword. The other laughed. He took up another stick and waved it, too.
And then they began to swordfight with their sticks. Or, rather, they began to dance. Or, maybe, they began to tell a story.
I watched them swing their sticks. I watched them lunge and jump and turn and deflect. It was dancing. It was fighting. It was storytelling. They represented two armies. They were warriors, angry and proud and graceful. One was the invader. One was the defender.
They slew each other, but, by some miracle, neither would stay dead. Each would lay still for a moment, then rise, and the fighting would resume. Finally, they wearied. One fell. The other one stood over him with stick raised. Then he dropped the stick and offered the fallen one his hand. The fallen one took the hand, and the one standing drew him into his arms and hugged him.
Oh, I said to myself, these two are telling their story from the bottoms of their feet. A chill ran up my spine. Joy rose in my chest until I could not contain it.
“Bravo!” I cried, clapping.
Suddenly, the two froze, then they looked up at me and smiled.
They bowed and waved ‘good night’ and left the courtyard, hand-in-hand.
I returned to my room, reminding myself to ask Dona Mariana about her new lodgers and to tell Uncle Marcelo that I had seen duende with my own eyes.
Fandom: The Old Guard
Pairing: Joe/Nicky
Rating: Gen
Length: 400
Prompt: Yahtzee Roll #2, #3: duende
Notes: Duende is (among other things) a concept made famous by Frederico Garcia Lorca in a lecture he gave in Buenos Aires in 1933. It is 'a heightened state of emotion, expression and authenticity' often associated with dance, music, and recitation. A translation of the lecture in English is available here if anyone's curious. Outsider POV.
Summary: Buenos Aires. 1933. A boy sees two strangers dance-fight in a courtyard.
My uncle Marcelo talks of many wonderful things, fantastic things, mostly, the things he learns in university. My father dismisses his talk, preferring to discuss nothing but football and fish, but I like to listen to Uncle Marcelo.
He attended a lecture the other day by a famous poet on something called duende.
Duende, the poet says, is ‘a mysterious force that everyone feels, and no one has explained.’ He says it comes out of dancers and painter and poets when they reach within themselves and bring out something true and dark and pure. It was all words to me, beautiful words, but just words until the other night, when it was too hot to sleep and I crept out onto the roof for some air.
All was dark and quiet until down in the courtyard, two men arrived. One of them was singing something. Then he took up a stick and waved it in the air like a sword. The other laughed. He took up another stick and waved it, too.
And then they began to swordfight with their sticks. Or, rather, they began to dance. Or, maybe, they began to tell a story.
I watched them swing their sticks. I watched them lunge and jump and turn and deflect. It was dancing. It was fighting. It was storytelling. They represented two armies. They were warriors, angry and proud and graceful. One was the invader. One was the defender.
They slew each other, but, by some miracle, neither would stay dead. Each would lay still for a moment, then rise, and the fighting would resume. Finally, they wearied. One fell. The other one stood over him with stick raised. Then he dropped the stick and offered the fallen one his hand. The fallen one took the hand, and the one standing drew him into his arms and hugged him.
Oh, I said to myself, these two are telling their story from the bottoms of their feet. A chill ran up my spine. Joy rose in my chest until I could not contain it.
“Bravo!” I cried, clapping.
Suddenly, the two froze, then they looked up at me and smiled.
They bowed and waved ‘good night’ and left the courtyard, hand-in-hand.
I returned to my room, reminding myself to ask Dona Mariana about her new lodgers and to tell Uncle Marcelo that I had seen duende with my own eyes.