Le Temps Revient...

Poetry, Music, Art & Ideas for the Archaic Recurrence...

lunes, 31 de enero de 2011

Hispania Ulterior Canto IX: Epilogue.

129
Lead thyself far from humanity's dark ills,
Think he cur’d? Who taketh too many pills?
Oh how hard! Life seemeth as if liv'd on trial!
Remaineth clean! Don't sink in that stink and bile!

130
Think thee curs'd for not having play'd their game?
They made up the rules to keep thee but tame!
Don't you see? That which really shouldst matter?
'Tis squander'd daily! In pursuit of useless tatter!
131
So endeth here at last, the first part of my song,
Howe'er from these lands my heart hast not yet gone,
Shouldst I to live out here the remainder of my days,
Perhaps, perchance view'd in desolate ways!

132
Maybe shalt thou see, my will be further bent,
To regale thee more and not repent,
That shouldst thou to me, lend an ear,
Many ano'er amusing history shalt thou hear!

133
For thy valuable time, I thank thee now,
Spent here recounting I know not how,
And hope seem'd it not a terrible waste,
Now, back to the land of Samsara! Make thee haste!

viernes, 28 de enero de 2011

Hispania Ulterior canto XIII: Toledum.




107
Toledo! Precious light of Hispania's cities!
Where many a destiny denied mention thy frailties!
Thou hast seen many a Gothic King,
Of the Vandal, Moor and Christian thy murals still sing!

108
Thou art the jewel of Hispania Ulterior,
And Madrid 'twas built only to protect thy grandure,
Islam didst repent that fatal day,
When Christians took thy walls and came to stay!

109
E'en unto these days of late,
Toledo canst be enter’d by the eastern gate,
And crossing the river, in the early morn',
O'er bridges protected by swords now undrawn.

110
And enter thee through Moorish arches,
Rise up those steps like a conquistador who charges,
Led on by an impatient need to sack,
And fill thy desolate soul's immodest lack!


























111
The first encounter high above the steps,
Be the Alcázar's military enclave, yet,
A sight of power projecteth thee,
That struts to uphold petty tyranny!

112 
'Twas here that General Franco made his claim,
To absolute power, war was his game,
The Alcázar's "relief" from Republican rule,
Term'd howe'er "liberation" from communist barracks' gruel!

113
Of Cathedrals Hispania dost boast a few,
And fine white wall'd Synagogues, left by the Jew,
When Catholic Kings forc'd him from his land,
Religious tolerance being too much to stand!
























114
Toledo 'tis a citadel doubly defended,
The river runs 'round it and pretended,
To preserve its pristine magnificence,
From descent into the outer world's decadence.

115
Here seemeth a world in time presev'd,
Cut off from many a century undeserv'd,
To be but a ghost town a relic of past glory,
Where soothsayers tell of old, but ne'er new stories!
116
Hereabouts didst live Domenikos Theotokopoulos,
"The Greek" he was call'd by those at a true loss,
As to pronunciation of a name so long,
By their admitted ignorance of the Grecian tongue.

117
Domenikos was a son of the Island of Crete,
Yet to Italia's Renaissance he made swift retreat,
And at Venice by Titian's acute guidance,
Found he was gifted for artistic license.

118
Despite the church's ubiquitous influence on,
Themes fit for painters, in those days far from gone,
Domenikos found his own unique vision,
Breathing new life into old subject matter with precision.

























119
'Twas with the Spanish clergy, he found his way,
Or rather lost it -depending who hath his say,
Found himself then from that day residing,
Within Toledo's walls, in seclusion not hiding.

120
He had a certain way of capturing a subject's soul,
Or essence in oils that embody'd the whole,
Which brought about a far reaching harmonic sense,
A stylistic innovation, emotionally intense!

121
"El Intierro del conde Orgaz" he paints,
Many a Spanish nobleman together with Saints,
That money couldst not prove eternity too long,
Yet by a brushstroke amendeth thy enmity wrong!

122
And unto such images of Christ he gave birth,
Yet set strangely amongst Spanish knights of worth,
Pious servants seemeth they of our Lord!
Far from mere brutes! With an excuse for the sword!
123
'Tis through here that many a pauper hath pass'd, 
Looking to make a fortune or some bread crumbs last,
Not to mention one Lazarillo de Tormes, he of late,
Who didst get himself into many a fine scrape!

124
Led he a life describ'd only as picturesque,
By no fault of his own became quite a villain, nay,
Playing his tricks on both the 'haves' and 'have nots',
Doing aught to fill his belly by roguish plots!


























125
E'en the proud be reduc'd to desperate measures,
Prey upon others who doth not appreciate pleasures!
'Tis easy to walk on by, say "the system's to blame",
What will it cost? To release humanity from foul shame?

126
Yet to others dignity still be a thing too strong,
Wouldst they rather starve to death, lingering long,
A drawn out end perhaps 'tis prefer'd by some,
To asking for alms, begging, take pity on our young!

127
Howe'er poverty remaineth so whilst isolated on corners,
On thy knees thou doth find few amongst thy mourners,
Until that day, strength stands in its own way,
Find release from dependance! Vile creatures of clay!

128
Traverse thee by any of today's remote back alleys,
There shalt thou find many a Lazarillo's ally,
Organiz'd crime leadeth tourist trades array,
E'en the desolate crave dignity! Who's to pay?



jueves, 27 de enero de 2011

Hispania Ulterior Canto VII: Madrid.



















84
And similar thoughts to these didst last,
While arriving in El barrio de las Huertas,
Be many sided, the town of Madrid,
'Though it ne'er hath seen passage by El Cid.

85
The people hereabouts be open and friendly,
De buen comportamiento, yet a little too trendy,
Hardly e'er wouldst thou be here,
Left in a corner quietly sipping a beer.

86
Of all those which by fortune didst he meet,
Or misfortune depending on where thee doth greet,
By La Puerta del Sol e'en there in the street,
Converse with fine strangers walking on thy feet.

87
And there by the side of La Puerta del Sol,
Lies the centre, Hispania's navel stone,
From where Spanish kings and parliamentary underlings,
Decide fates and fortunes... all manner of things!



















88
'Tis a place strangely calm for a capital,
Yet by night tranquility transcends aught more musical,
Lights flare up "The city that doth not sleep",
Ne'er be there shortage of life on the cheap!

89
'Twas from here that King Phillip once said,
"Send forth the Armada!" School children hath read,
Of an ostentatious fleet he didst hath,
To crush the villainous Britons -Clear the path!

90
'Twas about time somebody taught 'em a lesson,
To mend their meddling ways from honour's digression,
And showeth once and for all who be they,
That commandeth the seas and most piously prey!

91
'Twas not so easily a fleet be thus built,
And unto Mother Nature, hide thy guilt!
The cost was heavy in timber and in men, 
The forests of Castile wouldst grow ne'er agen!

92
Thinketh we now of Climate Change,
It be aught new, in olden times strange,
Yet modern and antique man be equally vain,
Worry little of disaster! If for the moment we gain!



















93
When approaching Madrid by Ave, a train,
Liken'd unto a bird in speed, the main,
Thing noticeth thee, such an empty plain,
Where no bird doth rest! Totally drain'd!

94
What became of King Phillip's grand ambition?
Fac’d off against Drake, by attrition,
That faithful pirate who serv'd Britannia's Queen,
E'en Scotsmen know of what befell that Hispanic dream!
95
'Tis not only those outskirts that hath seen,
Destruction's devastation likewise hast been,
Inflicted far closer with sad loss of life,
The Ave's nesting place also came to strife.

96
Atocha be a station where many pass through,
Ne'er thought any, ne I nor you,
Wouldst end our days by cunning deception,
That tragic morn' none expected detonation.



















97
Times like these be they easy to blame,
Others who act, accus’d of foul shame,
Yet the causes that lead to such drastic measures, 
Remain neglected, unfit for society’s censures.

98
Think we not to address the ill,
But to respond in kind and continue to fill,
Hearts & minds with bitter bile,
Those we oppose fall far unreconcil'd!

99
A society or civilization despite what be thought,
Need not have its idols forcibly fought,
When its own adherents neglect to support,
Seeing suddenly as hollow what they'd previously bought.

100
Things of this kind inevitably fall,
Of their own accord like any a wall,
Strong as it seemeth, strong in its day,
Corrosion comes from within when all seems but grey!

101
The trick be to have aught else already,
A pre-existing alternative which canst but steady,
The disruptive forces of social change,
And give new light! Possibilities range!



















102
A creature grows bold in a chrysalis,
Needs time to develop into a synthesis,
And when it be ready finally to be born,
The old around it crumbles, fitfully shawn!

103
Those innocents! Who always die in vain!
Atocha's atrocity! Where art thou the blame?
Thy social ills! Far beyond corrupt!
Yet those who oppose! In ideas equally bankrupt!

104
Change canst be crawling, long drawn out,
Or swift to strike blows reducing to naught,
That which before seem'd our every & all,
How slowly history proceeds! Why dost thou stall?

105
How sad! That it takes such devastating might,
For us to achieve but a moment of clear sight!
And for once punish those we allow to lead,
In our stead! Alas for this! Innocence bleeds!

106
Yet life doth go on, well... for some anyway,
And back to our rote the powers doth sway,
Railway tracks canst be easily replac'd,
Atocha remains a gate! Onwards! We race!