Jesús is one of the greatest luthiers around... My maker studied under him for many years...
On 10/29/07, sylvain gagnon mini moteur 2000 inc <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > > Date: Thu, 29 Mar 2001 22:00:47 -0500 > From: Cathy Moore <cathy _at_ proseprovider.com> > Subject: Re: [HG] A letter to Pouget, translated > > Here's a translation, well worth the effort: > > Dear Mr. Pouget, > > During the last few weeks, I have had the privilege of restoring one of > your hurdy-gurdies, precisely, one that you built in Ardentes in April, > 1856. The person who requested the restoration bought it in an antique > shop in Salamanca. The wheel of fortune had brought it there, who knows > in what way. The poor thing was very dilapidated, broken and eaten by > hundreds of insects. > > When I first saw it, I thought there was no hope; it was missing many > original pieces, keys, tangents, and pegs, and had several cracked and > sunken staves. I had the hurdy-gurdy on the workbench and turned it > around and around, examining its state and convincing myself more and > more that this was an impossible job. I stepped back a bit, lit a > cigarette, and looked at the hurdy-gurdy as if asking forgiveness for > feeling incapable. It was there, quiet, silent. > > I don't know why, but I began to think of you. I closed my eyes and I > seemed to see you in your workshop that distant spring. I saw with total > clarity your hands carving the keybox and in the expression on your face > I saw everything clearly. All this tenderness deserved a better end. It > couldn't stay mute forever. In that moment you looked at me and a light > smile appeared on your lips. > > I have to confess that I was surprised that the darkness had taken over > my workshop, and all that remained of my cigarette was a long strip of > ash that bent inevitably toward the floor. I didn't want to turn on the > light and for a few minutes I caressed the hurdy-gurdy in silence. Under > my fingertips, I felt its moaning whine and its pain, which more and > more became mine. Now it was clear that I should try and I knew that you > would help me. > > The next morning, a state of excitement took over me. In the workshop > everything was ready. I had to take photos, take it apart, warm water, > permetrina?, paraloid?, knives, paintbrushes -- the entire process was > clear in my mind. When I began to take off the top, I thought that the > best I could find inside would be a message written by you. I thought > this because I am in the habit of doing this. I write poems in the > interior of my instruments, always in the top in a place no one can see, > messages for the future, for when dust covers my bones and my > instruments become the perfume that remains of the vague memory of my > existence. But there was only your handwritten label. I cleaned it with > a paintbrush, gently, until I could read "Faet par moi Pouget mois > d´avril 1856". > > This has been a meticulous and very gratifying job. Every step forward, > every problem solved filled me with anxiety about finishing it. I > couldn"t save the wheel because it was in very bad condition and I > decided to make a new one. I took the liberty of putting in bearings and > making it removable to resolve any problem that might present itself in > the future. I hope that the change doesn't displease you. If you like, > in another letter I will tell you about the improvements in hurdy-gurdy > construction introduced in recent years. > > I can't find words to describe the wave of feeling that washed over me > when I finally put on the strings, tuned them, adjusted the cotton and > resin, and began to play -- a clean and brilliant sound surrounded > everything. At first I had trouble getting a clear sound from the > trompette. The dog that I had installed was too small and didn't respond > correctly. I checked the angles of the string and realized that I needed > a taller dog. I made a new one and then it worked, a little harsh for my > taste, but all the beats came out easily and precisely. I improvised a > bourree and while I played, everything became drenched with a strange > sensation of peace, until the light of that March morning became an > accomplice in the moment and in the bit of sky that I can see through my > window, clouds threatening rain disappeared. > > The hurdy-gurdy now has its voice again and sings again. I hope that the > music that comes from its entrails makes us dance, laugh, or cry. In the > end, music is the language that everyone understands, a language that > unites us. > > Now all that remains is for me to thank you for everything that I've > learned working on your hurdy-gurdy, and I promise that if I go through > Ardentes I will look you up and we'll drink a toast with a glass of > wine, for music and for all that we've shared. > > With best regards and all my respect, > Jesús Reolid > > > welll if someone have closer picture of a pouget like this it will be > realy aprciate ..thanks..sylvain > send to > [EMAIL PROTECTED] > > >
