Dixie

by walterdoege

I live in the south of the country…in the south of the state…in the south of America…in a petit fleur brazilien…on the road I go always to the south from where I live…I go to an aesthetics of the south…here, the south is cold…some aesthetics of the cold…the south of United States of America is where I found the blues and the southern literature…Dixie and Dixieland is a fictional and an historical and geographical place…I want to mention the work of Michael Kreyling, who writes about the south of the blues and of the literature…he writes about the literature regarding the autenticity of this literary tradition, waving from fiction to historical and non fictional aspects…I like very much his work…the rescue of Dixie songs and writings, tradition and culture…and, however, the south from where I live is cold…this culture produces a song also and a literature shaped by cold…but despite weather differences, the south I mention are two souths, somehow, and one south, from my experience…as the songs and art and literature is a narrative somehow of the surviving and living efforts from the people…the blues is a blue mood always…the nostalgia is a deep soul expression…the narrative is a struggle against many difficulties…perhaps I feel some one south on such diverse regions and culture expressions…here there’s a blues sense in the music, there’s a narrative in art and literature and this narrative in so many expressions is what retain the history and tradition, and the art and literature is the fiction that is a struggle against forgetness and missing human work…somehow Dixie is also a place inside myself…as if on the long road I always go to the south where and when I can find peace in some small sheleter, where I can watch mellow sundowns with pink streaks at the blue horizon… the stars are bright…the moon is a company…the flowers with it’s fragrances…the reveries…the love…the sea and her parfum…shimmy parfum…Dixieland, a place on my soul