Image created by Devianart
Talking about a poem by my colleague Paul Wittemberger, it came to mind the verses of one of the best composers who has ever existed (and who exists) in Spanish, Silvio Rodríguez. Silvio, with humility, would say that he is not a poet but a troubadour, as if that were something simpler. In passing, I also take this opportunity to pay homage to him. I know it's controversial for many because his figure is loaded with political commitment, which provokes me even more. And because I feel like it. Although I don't know if it's fair to pay homage to someone who has made me cry so often…
Of the hundreds of songs I could talk about, today the famous 'blue unicorn' comes to mind, the last song on the album 'Unicornio' (1982). The meaning that has been given to this has been varied and colourful: from a pair of jeans to a well-known poet and revolutionary, passing through the 'lost utopia', true friendship or love, etc. Silvio, who usually mixes irony, tenderness, denunciation, politics, love, and humour in his lyrics, neither affirms nor denies an interpretation. In an interview, he said that he has written other more metaphorical lyrics and that, in this case, it is very clear what he is talking about. And that he likes to create art that makes the spectator participate and that moves stagnant ideas. So let the song speak for itself:
Mi unicornio azul ayer se me perdió, My blue unicorn was lost yesterday, pastando lo dejé y desapareció grazing I left it and it disappeared cualquier información any information bien la voy a pagar well I'm going to pay it Las flores que dejó no me han querido hablar The flowers that I left have not wanted to speak to me Mi unicornio azul ayer se me perdió My blue unicorn was lost yesterday No sé si se me fue I don't know if it left me No sé si se extravió I don't know if it got lost Yo no tengo más que un unicornio azul I only have a blue unicorn Si alguien sabe de él If anyone knows about him le ruego información I beg you for information cien mil un millón yo pagaré one hundred thousand one million I will pay Mi unicornio azul se me ha perdido ayer My blue unicorn was lost yesterday se fue he went away Mi unicornio y yo hicimos amistad My unicorn and I became friends Un poco con amor un poco con verdad A little with love a little with truth con su cuerno de añil pescaba una canción with his indigo horn, he fished for a song saberla compartir era su vocación knowing how to share it was his vocation Mi unicornio azul ayer se me perdió My blue unicorn was lost yesterday y puede parecer acaso una obsesión and it may seem like an obsession pero no tengo más que un unicornio azul but I only have a blue unicorn y aunque tuviera dos and even if I had two yo solo quiero a aquel I only want that one Cualquier información la pagaré I will pay for any information Mi unicornio azul se me ha perdido ayer My blue unicorn was lost yesterday se fue. he went away. The impact of this song on the public was so great at the time that the author had to include a clarifying note on the back cover of the LP.
“The song that concludes this work has provided me, in this last year, with a great deal of pleasure and surprises. Wherever I showed it, it unleashed a furious desire to let me know where my lost unicorn was. Letters, cables, and messages began to arrive; photographs, books, stickers, postcards, and drawings of all kinds of unicorns appeared. I even received news from places where I know that not only mine, but any other, would never go to graze. It's strange, but some people see things where there are none, or what's worse: they can't see the things that certainly exist.”
After all, who cares? That little creature is part of the hearts of thousands of people, whatever it means to each of them. But, returning to PW's poem, and the excuse that has generated these notes, my colleague misses a pen to jot down a moment of sudden inspiration. As we are accustomed to digital keyboards, this seems more like a rule than an anecdote, not to mention the unfortunate ideas that are hastily uploaded to the network, sometimes even mistaking the recipient. If you have cats, you'll know that they are fond of jumping on keyboards and collaborating as despotic editors, without consulting on changes or additions.
In my opinion, what is not written by hand is ethereal, without substance, dispensable. Even though I know that any manuscript that is published will undergo that 'evaporation'. Curiously, the pen I'm using right now—although I know it will be a metaphor, don't be literal—is running out of ink. And that's where the comparison lies: what better blue unicorn than those lifelong ‘BIC cristal’ pens, with their unmistakable blue cap with a horn. Who hasn't lost one of those unicorns at the worst possible moment? For those of us who like to write by hand, these magical artefacts can be objects of fetishism, and it's not the same writing with one as with another. Would anyone write a novel with a pencil, or with a felt-tip pen? In my case, it's about time I refilled the ink in my favourite pen, a black unicorn that the love of my life gave me one day. “And even if I had two, I only want that one.”
Blue Unicorn. Bic pen image. Surprise .
Indelible inkling crosses my fingers.
Mind was set on losing memories. Can’t find words nor form the letters. Aged pages torn out of context . Misinterpretation. No price large enough to cover loss of Blue Unicorn grazing. This is a song sung by an ageless minstrel. Relevant for times passing.
Thanks for bringing this wonderful song and this amazing artist to our attention, Rafa.