Le Temps Revient...

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

jueves, 27 de enero de 2011

Hispania Ulterior Canto VII: Madrid.

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.

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.

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.

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!

'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!

'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!

'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!

'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!

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!

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!

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!
'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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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!

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!

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!

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!

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?

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!

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!

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