Vintage Jazz

Rote Bäume - Red Trees 28,5 x 38,5 cm

Firenze - Florenz - Florence c/o Karin Goeppert

PILGRIMAGE

They are lined up in a traffic jam

where the border used to be, an army

in retreat, trunks of sedans, backs of

station wagons, open donkey carts,

wheelbarrows, rusty forklifts, loaded with cases of

Chianti, Bardolino, Frascati, Brunello di Montalcino,

schnapps from South Tyrol, Prosecco from Vicenza.

Liquid for lucubrations, fodder for midnight bull sessions.

We are talking the language of ecstasy—nose, tannins,  

hints of vanilla, suggestion of smoky nightfall. Life

   stretching out before us

like sunset over the vines of Languedoc, of Tuscany,

staining the slopes of Kaiserstuhl a dusky pink. A local   

wine merchant, half charlatan, half priest, half inebriated,

one who says fuck retsina, man, spurn vinho verde, avoid

anything Austrian, pours a Pinot Noir from the Napa Valley, a Cab  

Sauv from the African cape. Nothing is sacred, a Frenchman might  

mutter. But there’s a raspy, deep-felt “amen” over by the dark  

hued Zinfandels, the sassy blond Chardonnays. A sob of gratitude.  

And what goes better with wine than some jazz?

Jeff Beck and Tal Wilkenfeld

Crossroads Festival 2007