interesting - I like the song-like chorus element of this best, very Lorcan!
Not so comfortable with the way you oppose women and men - though that's very
Lorcan too I guess.
Erin and I followed some of Lorca's steps, including his last days, last Oct,
with the help of the wonderful books of Ian Gibson (esp 'Lorca's Granada',
highly recommended to anyone who intends to visit the city - when he
describes the Pilar de Carlos V on the Alhambra Hill he refers to a famous
photograph and says 'you may chose to sit in exactly the place chosen by
Lorca' and of course we did!).
Following Lorca's path to a brutal execution at Ainadamar was a very moving
experience.
I wonder if we all have a homage to Lorca lurking somewhere? This is mine
Album
Granada Oct 2000
I look out across a country I do not know.
If I turn to face you, it is not
with any understanding of what I have seen.
There is a gully, a door we walked through.
And here, as there always was, water celebrating air.
Not knowing this was it,
we anticipated. At a table, writing,
I looked up and you were there, looked down and at my feet
runnels of melted snow. Rain soaked our dreams of sun.
The elms carried us back to our room
down a hill, through woods peopled by water,
waited patiently outside all afternoon.
This now, looking forward, a view I had already memorised.
Subtle geometry unfinished even in the downpour.
Incomplete with the exception of a dry stone step.
Recurring beside me, a tired boy
rests against the wall. All poured into a look.
I write a memorial after all.
A mark to recall walking beside what was still and brilliant.
No voices in this crowd. Aching up in silence
to gather, caught in the detail, fragments of colour.
Blue and red. I think he saw everything.
He was beside me. I smiled hardly knowing.
Walked softly, underfoot a domain of glass,
hesitant to meet his eye, the stone.
Here we moved in an intricacy of white light.
Soaking rain hardly added to the cascades
that were themselves where a surface sheens.
The hillside opened in fragile arches
pavements became a liquid gateway.
We looked back across the hill for the first time
to see what we had already seen.
A monument. An uninvited companion.
History a fine tracery of love and gardens.
Sun, rain among fountains falling.
Here we begin to know where we have been.
Finally I stand where many others have stood
and you run to meet me.
We walk on ordered steady beauties
ready to receive the sun.
Look directly at what we hope
will become us and smile.
The staircase pours to meet us. A palace of air swirling.
All things solid or stable already made of water.
