Le Temps Revient...

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

jueves, 17 de febrero de 2011

Hispania Citerior Canto V: La Costa Brava.

Away from thy prison, that improbable land!
On towards the coast, lose thy needs in the sand,
Of a calmer spot, where didst thee lend a hand,
To fishermen ocean bound, their rhyme now makes sound!

High above the plains where travels normally end,
Guided by a fine friend who to excursions didst send,
And in their moments one unto the other they spent,
On their merry way they pensively went.

A town not far lost, the locals didst lead,
A life far from dependance, felt they freed,
And in that still climate, by their own hand didst appease,
A stomach contented by what doth come from the seas.

In all innocence arrivest there didst they,
Away from where all canst be attain'd by pay,
One accustom'd to the city, the other the sea,
A land far from greed's woes, wouldst thou agree!

'Twas brought forth there a modest boat,
Of this no doubt, howe'er ye may gloat,
On this point admitted, I must be forgiven,
For with cosmopolitan ignorance I be unfortunately smitten!

Whate'er here the appropriate vocabulary be,
There didst they set sail half haphazardly,
For not with sailors of experience, I'm afraid,
Rather still in the process, learning their trade!

There sat he first up front,
Whilst others row'd against the tide's brunt,
And there sat the other last at the back,
With hand and eye idle, seeing what they lack'd.

There at the stern further out to sea,
Felt he within the strain condemn'd to be,
A lazy guest or guide for those,
Who pitied their lives against the waves they'd chose.

Much further out that boat didst glide,
And from that relentless crew didst hide,
'Till land no longer couldst be seen,
As though encag'd creatures they'd ne'er been!

Unsteadily then didst move ‘em the energy,
Which forceth water to and fro ceaselessly,
That until now from times long ago,
Hath rock'd and torn many a proud prow!

Sat in discomfort there pondering high,
Of many a tempest, fates cast a sigh,
Upon flight from Actium, Antony's gloom,
Or the grim fortune that o'er many hast loom'd!

A melancholy feeling thereabouts came,
That loss of nations or personal fame,
Couldst rest here on the chances of the deep,
Empires lost to the unworthy, theirs to keep!

There thought he of grand folly whilst floating,
To cast a lot to the victors always gloating,
Also the vanquish'd, history's character most common,
Thy destiny! Uncertain! Frail! Remaineth unsummon'd!
Venturing far from Christianity's flocks,
Eventually didst they come across hard press'd rocks,
That lead to lands much further afield,
And told stories warlike with weapons to wield.

A comparison here is easily made,
By anyone who having attention to the Classics paid,
To those myths that now any a poet couldst recount,
References from Ovid to Homer, backwards they mount!

And don't ye forget of Coleridge's ancient tale,
Our native poet's vision set in the gale,
Which since hath gain'd such immortal acclaim,
Foolish thou art who follow through with the same!

That there upon the clashing rocks! He,
was able to pass quite easily,
Yet a classical temperament is bound to see,
Scylla and Charybdis tormenting thee!

As sun set in sight due to the west,
The moon didst rise to the east of their quest,
Where kind Calypso once was dwelt,
And unfortunate Ulysses utter'd his bitter lament!

There "La luna del noche" shone, oh! So bright!
With a reddish tinge seemest not such a blight,
Upon creation uncreated, which exists only to sight,
Feeling emotions swiftly, canst be drawn out!

Out in the deep where one can make a living,
Only with patience and an inclination to giving,
That with which least illusions, 'tis the life,
That danger and insecurity seem but normal strife!

Once returneth thee to those former shores,
Be thee reminded of order -seems now but a bore,
A needful lie, of which Humanity 'tis sure,
And follows blindly, not thinking to cure!

Back on Tierra Firma one more time,
Giveth notice how fleeting 'tis this life call'd thine,
That 'though we consider in depth our misfortunes,
What matter they to ano'er's exertions?

That night didst sleep he fitfully well,
In a den fit for dogs - an awful smell,
And when morn' didst break yet agen,
Back to a life of trouble! The city! To dwell!

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