Dear Marco Polo
Open window in the last years of the second millennium provided opportunity to cross borders between countries and continents like never before. The Cold War war ended. Apartheid died. Revived, passages dormant since the Dark Ages sprouted multitude new paths. Proprietors of privileged passport were welcome everywhere.
AMERICA COME BACK
Music, lyrics, vocal, guitars by Jon Ber
Tear in the eyes carries the torch.
Everybody can see what’s going on:
Rush in the Limbaugh.
Gingrich in Georgia.
Delay in Texas.
Mississippi got the Lot.
Mrs Lot looked back.
ended as salt.
I read it said in thy book thy rave.
America come back.
home of the free & competent.
Katrina.
Abu Grab.
The war doesn't end.
Bin Laden not dead.
La la la lies.
P P P poop.
Ga ga gaga.
Blah Blah blah
Dream halting borders
Mine was. With a picture aimed at easing the mind of customs borders officers and officials in general. I farewell the Yuppie suit in the USA, yet maintained a short hair cut and clean shave. Keeping up appearances was crucial. I'll be getting in and out countries carryings handcrafted creations produced on the streets, market, and remote indigence villages in Africa, Asia and South America and selling it to shop owners, market venders and jewelers in small towns and the biggest cities Amsterdam, Zurich, Paris, Vienna, Munich, London, Tokyo, Sydney. Johannesburg and later across the United states. It was all legal. Result of perception. USA citizens are rich therefore legitimate. I witnessed other nations dreamers stopped at the border.
Being born in Eastern Europe I was well aware of the extent of my fortune. I didn't tell Nasha. She had a burning desire ( brennende wunsch) to see London and Paris. She wasn't an optimist. It was something foreigners, undamaged by the East German regime Stalinestickly inspired, brand of sadism could envelope to be. Colleagues, friends and lovers were programmed to tell on each other. Information was gathered in unmarked building by anonymous officials on behalf of the supreme power. Impenetrable, incomprehensible maze. Kafka. There was no safety nor trust among the privileged party inner circle either. Terrorizing the core of humanity the East German secret police Stasi had mothers snitch on their children.
AMAZING GRace Jon Newton
vocals. guitars, keyboard by Jon Ber
Gulilver nor Giraffe
We met on the train from East Berlin to Prague. Nasha was one of the few Rock band promoters in the Soviet block, thus permitted to travel within some of the Iron curtain’s borders. I played American songs while the train made its way under darkening sky. Her face was glued to my guitar. There were three armed Russians and an East German soldier in the compartment with us. They demanded more music. I pulled out the first of two bottles of Scotch Whiskey. A singing party started with more passengers crowding the corridor, cheering and dancing as the bottles were passed on. Few years earlier I would have been arrested for spreading decadence. Being accused of spying was feasible. Even some of my friends in the USA were convinced that I worked for the Mossad or the CIA because of my peculiar languages skill and unconventional military background. My assertion that I'm conspicuously tall for a secret agent were dismissed as part of the ploy.
PEACE DAY HAS COME
WALLA - REALLY
Music, lyrics, vocals. guitars, by Jon Ber
(Hebrew) Once destiny told me:
Fear not mistaking.
I'll guard you at night.
Day will come.
Fallen soldiers playing flutes.
Orphans refugee camps.
Sing a song longing for peace.
Day has come.
(Arabic) Forgive me child, sir, landlord, leader.
My heart wishes peace but my head is crazed.
Thousand nights and a night...
Peace. Day has come.
Really.
My child really.
Positive.
Ye
Missed another sign
Crackles the barbed wired Berlin Wall steel enforced cement bricks, were as grimly grey as ever. Endless miles of rusted tanks, canons, trucks and assorted out of commission heavy weaponry, piled on sparsely connecting railway tracks, matching the surrealistic atmosphere of dilapidation, in a country that forbade rejuvenation. But omen was given. Music allowed. Space will soon join eleven time zones to give hundreds of millions of people, freedom of movement and expression. I couldn't imagine that, but heard myself assuring Nasha that she will get to go wherever she wishes soon. There I sang a verse from John Newton's Amazing Grace . "How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me." Chill ran through my spine that morning as I crossed at Checkpoint Charlie through the prison like gates from West Berlin in to the dreary East.
I've always been silly. Optimistic. Still a pre-schooler I comforted a girl I had a crash on: “anybody can achieve their wishes if they really wanted them hard enough”. She laughed. I wore blue short trousseaus. Her name was Mia. She was , six years older. It was hopeless. It was in Jerusalem.
CHINESE JOKE
Music, lyrics, vocals. guitars, by Jon Ber
Thugs sell oil.
You are buying.
In Darfur people are dying.
Women raped.
Children slaughtered.
Life set on fire. a
Urgent! to Panda.
People republic of China.
Need your help.
Stop Evil.
Free Tibet.
Free your own people.
By morning, we were in the Danube wonder city of Prague. It was twenty years after its spring was crashed by Russian tanks. The colors were brightening. The city was humming with local activity and mostly Eastern European travelers. Fresh paint was applied by a matriculate master. There was a magnificent gate decoration to a busy beer garden were we joined other patrons at one of the long massive wooden tables. My guitar found itself in the hands of a gifted young Flamenco player from Cuba She played Malaguena. Nasha cried. I have never seen here again.
Gleaming eternal light came to shine on Africa. It illuminated Earth. His name was Nelson Mandela. He called upon traders to come to the the new Rainbow Nation of South Africa. And I went. (More about my three years in Africa soon.)
CAROLINA GREENS
Music, lyrics, vocals. guitars, by Jon Ber
The moon couldn't sleep.
Early in the morning.
Carolina greens unfold,
the sun is waking up.
We've been through long ago
but I still don't know why:
tears don't dry and the void
lingers on and on?
If suddenly, out of thin air.
you pop back in town.
Don't cherish any hopes,
we've been through long ago,
thought I still don't know why.
Traveling became significantly more affordable as the nineties unveiled. Infant as it was, Internet information quickly accelerated flourishing global trade and leisure industries. One was no longer dependent on recommendations from self serving, incompetent travel agents - wether to fly Tarom, the Romanian Airline, or the Soviet Union’s, Aeroflot. Both were using the same notorious, mid air rattling planes. Still there were not many other choices of getting into Nepal & India where TORA TORA, (slowly slowly) after surviving the initial few years shock - I started feeling SHANTI. (Inner peace.).
Visa requirements were cancelled or dramatically liberalized everywhere. There I was. One bag, a guitar and a USA passport that magically opened each door I chose entering. There was room to keep in touch with the past. I vanished. Thus it came to be known, Biblically speaking, among my family and friends that I have expired. They should have known better. I've been doing thin air imitations since childhood.
LOVE IS FREE
Music, lyrics, vocals. guitars, by Jon Ber
Sensing cloud hugging mountain.
Shortly lived affair.
Love is free.
Does what she wants.
Comes and goes.
Misty clouds kissed the valley.
Stirring life from despair.
Love is free.
Can't be imposed.
Comes and goes.
I can say Je t'aime.
But yet to learn how to love.
Love is free, nobody knows,
when she comes or goes.
It was few years ago, while at one of my favorite palaces on Earth, a desert oasis Hindi holly town Pushkar, Rajastan, India, that Yo'av, the Sitar player, notified me that "actually everybody back home knows" that I am dead. "Been like that for years." People eagerly spread sad news. It makes them feel wonderful. In my case however, disappointing the update may be to some: "The rumors of my demise were highly exaggerate:.." Mark Twain.
Jane had the same information in Los Angeles, California, where I affectedly ended the twelve years of deadness, by showing up at her place in Hollywood. The house number was unforgettable: 414 and a quarter. She gave me a summery of the time I lost in one sentence that lasted well over an hour, during which, without missing a beat she summoned Karen by phone. In the early eighties Jane rumbling caused us to be kicked out of a Sunset avenue restaurant. Ah the good old days. Jagermeister with beer chasers and Irish coffee to boot. Cruising between the Barney's Beanery on Santa Monica boulevard and Molly Malone’s on Fairfax, with early morning breakfast at Canter’s. I was a newspaper editor.
POLISH JOKE
Lyrics by Jan Brzechwa
Music by Jon Ber
The doctor put on hiss glasses.
As he was getting a bit old.
Then, he examined her precisely.
And at last, said this:
Lady. Dear Lady:
You must sit on a pump.
You must exhale and inhale,
because you must be dry.
The Frog left the doctor
saying I'm sick.
And a patient listens to a doctor.
I have to be dry. I will be dry.
The frog took care of her health.
The frog dried herself dry.
She did it step by step.
But al that remained of her,
was a little dust.
And the doctor scratches his ear:
Dry, didn’t work for the dear..
Later that evening Ron whom I just met, decided after listening to my reasoning for not contacting anyone and consulting a dictionary, that Vagabond is most suitable way to describe who I am. He was Karen's boyfriend and a movie director at that. I was flattered. It sounded, more romantic than being called a bum. After almost three years on the roads in the USA, I went back to the Pushkar and wrote the music and lyrics for VAGABOND. Bar Harbor and Carolina Greens were lyrics I added to a soundtrack based on the same theme.
VAGABOND
Music, lyrics, vocals. guitars, by Jon Ber
Winds came suddenly,
the sky let it go it snowed.
As white swept the soil,
for a moment we thought:
maybe you and I?
You were shy, wanted to know.
I no longer lie, so I told you
that In the morning I'll be gone.
I no loner lie.
Loveless I'm free to be walking off.
Doesn't daunt me,
that my restless soul,
will forever be wondering on.
Code of the nomads, a Troubadour,
I'm a vagabond.
Winds came suddenly,
the sky let it go it snowed.
As white swept the soil,
contemplation evoked,
maybe you and I?
The very last day of 1999 seen America in a bit of hysteria due to a computer related millennium doomsday theory named Y2K. I accompanied an actress friend to a Los Angeles, Rodeo Drive, bookstore were she loaded herself up with fancy cover books about such and other catastrophe predictions. "One has to surround themselves with books so they can sponge the knowledge." she explained. I remembered a newspaper cartoon I've seen when I was a teenager. "An Ass carrying books is still an Ass." I said Jokingly. “Never mind that.” she said, handing her credit card to pay for a $380 sunglass pair. She got movie royalties pay that day. “I’ll never ware cheap sunglasses again” she said in a true Vivian Lee - Gone with The wind - fashion. Next morning, I woke up in a Bell-Air mansion after a new year’s party. It was 2000. We were all alive. I flew back to India where most families couldn’t earn $380 annually.
SEEN THE LIGHT
Music, lyrics, vocals. guitars, by Jon Ber
He seen the light.
It was too late.
It knocked him out.
But he wasn't dead.
Instead he said:
I've seen the light.
Its a big one.
It shine so bright.
We've seen the light.
It was too late.
By now he was the president.
who've seen the light
Its a big one.
It shines so bright.
I got stuck penniless, just about everywhere I went, while learning to do business on the road. Uncontrollable desire to see the world and nothing to miss, helped me overcome hurdles and luck showed up again just when it seem I could go no further. It was an idea from a mind of a child: Get to the countries I dreamt about - Find handcrafted merchandise I liked and could afford developing with the artists that made them, to fit international standards - Peddle the final product, to shop owners in a different area of the same country, or other parts of the world. And so I came to be a traveling trader.
I fell in love with Pushkar, on my first trip to India. It was the local exceptionally friendly, Shanty life style, the colors the parades the free roaming monkeys, camels, cows and donkeys, the daily morning salute to the sun and evening sunset rituals by the lake with Bangalassy at the Teahouse and a chance to enjoy the company of other travelers - while been mesmerized by ever changing circus, for months at a time. Playing guitar quietly, singing whispery in my room, I joined the echo of drums and singing from passing processions, wishing harmony in solitude.
BAR HARBOR
Music, lyrics, vocals. guitars, by Jon Ber
Winds from the north came suddenly.
The sky opened-up it started to snow.
When white swept the soil,
contemplations evoked:
may you and I?
You were shy in Augusta.
Brave in Bangor.
Aloof the moon,
had lit up the welcome post
to Bar harbor.
It was known all along,
that rivers somehow return to the sea.
I've no one to return to.
Loveless yet free,
I keep moving on.
Never fearing that my restless soul,
will forever be wondering on.
The ways of the nomads,
Troubadours. I'm a Vagabond.
Coming back to the same villages & markets to upgrade quality, strengthen trust and improve communication was an uplifting experience I relieved on six continent. Even better. I returned to visit my best friends and their families. In some countries, I was sticking around for months, couple of years, coming back for years, or passing through just because I had to check it out. I was lucky to have worked with artists and master artisans. Got to meet and hang out with hundreds venders at their places of business and homes - while seeing the world and establishing fulfilling relationships.
KING SHARON
Music, lyrics, vocals. guitars, by Jon Ber
Wakes up with conflicting thoughts.
What's better: Build or demolish?
Reality changed, as I slept through the years.
It is an abnormal situation.
He’ll summarize in a word.
Oh what a man he was.
From the greatest of the nation.
Idealist. Revisionist.
And a do it man.
Once they called upon him,
to be a king. Forever.
And so on the way to top:
He climbed and devoured.
Killed and embezzled.
Didn't stick to a post.
He'll be switching jobs,
when he wishes.
They sang "king Arik live and alive".
Not only In Holon, also in Bat Yam.
And in Bet El,
they claimed he is The Saviour.
And so at the top,
rich an obese,
he squinted and stuttered.
With your blood he'll pay.
Till the end he will fight.
Against peace for Israel.
Thanks to the genius of millions of developers on the Digital Avenue Bypass, you can read and listen to what i write, play, sing, record and publish on this website from my little house in rural USA. in . . Life is peacefully green and simple now. There’s no need to shave in the morning. I am going nowhere. Birds, woods fields, ands and cows for neighbors, my life style is opposite from the days I lived on the road between somewhere and nowhere - moving on while getting to know Earth on the street level.
If by a chance you are one of the people I met during 15 years of roaming on six continents - it will be a great pleasure for me to renew our friendship. I'd love to hear from you. Getting in touch is as easy as clicking Jon Ber
PEACE OF MIND
Music & lyrics by Jon Ber
Peace of mind comes your way one day.
Rivers run away from mountains.
Query thoughts.
Splitting hair.
C'est moi.
On a fence. Detached.
No Love no pain.
But now it rains
Peace of mind comes your way one day.
Rivers run away from mountains.
Unite with oceans.
Curious water spreads forever.
Merge with the sky, awaits stormy day.
And then it rains.
Shame it wasn't time to share devotion.
Ini, mini, miny mo.
jonber,com GOOGLE TRANSLATIONS
ARABIC CHINESE S CHINESE T CZECH DANISH DUTCH FINISH FRANCH GERMAN GREEK HEBREW HINDI ITALIAN JAPANESE KOREAN NORWEGIAN POLISH PORTUGUESE ROMANIAN RUSSIAN SPANISH SWEDISH
MORE SOON.
Jon Ber. P.o, Box 264. Catawba, NC, 28609 USA
