Patrick’s Final Concert Notes

Patrick’s Final Concert – Notes

In 2008, three years after Stephanie passed away, Patrick retired from his role as artistic director of the International Music Festival of Deia.

Thanks to Suzy, here are the concert notes he included in that final program under his tenure.

Trini, Suzy and I read these remarks (in Mallorquin, Spanish, and English) to the memorial concert audience.

Click on the picture to “embiggenate” it.

Farewell on Sullivan Street 1960 (by Patrick)

we won’t let you go!
tackling me at the knees.

gretchen is laughing
at this new game with daddy.
jennifer is older and cries
her mother’s panicked eyes
telling her it’s no joke

with my books bundled in twenties
i lash myself down the stairs,
toss them into the vw bug and drive mari
to our roach-infested
love nest.

tenth street is a bongo jungle
where we live in sweet rhythmic sin,
joy swirling behind us
as we race toward the tawdry
end so surely up the road.

their arms hobble me yet,
though i now bundle my years
by the quarter century
and still await, with dread,
the accumulating tears.

Deya 2006

Stephanie Shepard (Obituary)

Obituary by Sue Steward
Published in The Guardian, Saturday April 9, 2005

Stephanie and Dog

In 1978, the singer and musician Stephanie Shepard, who has died of cancer aged 64, and her partner Patrick Meadows, a jazz musician and poet, bought an old farmhouse with three cottages at Deià, in the mountains of Majorca. The village was a focus for artists, home to Robert Graves and a refuge for exiles from London’s psychedelic rock scene, such as Kevin Ayers, Daevid Allen and his group Gong, and Robert Wyatt.

It had been in 1975 that Shepard met Meadows and they began playing, she recalled, impromptu “duets, flute and piano and baroque sonatas, and choral pieces”. Continue reading “Stephanie Shepard (Obituary)”

A Life of Sundays (Norman’s Story)

IRDW Norman Yannikun lived over the troll’s bridge by Font Fresca.  He had no running water in his house, and you would see him by the flowing water, a mirror hanging on the stone retaining wall as he shaved and performed his morning ablutions.  Winters he generally wore the khaki fur liner of a GI’s combat jacket.  After the war he had settled in Paris for a couple of decades dedicating himself to painting, living on the GI Bill and then an Army pension.  No doubt he came to Deià to live on the cheap, perhaps at the suggestion of other American expats who had already discovered the Tramuntana. Continue reading “A Life of Sundays (Norman’s Story)”