Mojácar la Vieja, my constant view
As a final post, I had thought to share a draft of one of the
Goya poems I wrote about in my previous post, but they are so unfledged, I can’t bring myself to do so. Instead,
I’ll offer one of the other poems I wrote while here, this one drafted at dawn because the birds are so loud here they woke me up. I leave it to the reader to determine
if I am overly indebted to Lorca. Seguirillas is one of the rhythms used by palmeros (hand clappers) in Flamenco.
I
Beat the Sunrise for You
beat
the first dawn birds
their syncopated seguirillas
for hoisting the gold-grey
Cyclops
eye
beat the moon’s retreat, the star’s
decline,
beat the Earth’s hum and its breathing
gecko
heat, the espaliered tree
the
hooting doves, beat my own
awakeness,
my desperate ear for you
but
I know I didn’t beat you.
You’re
already up, you’ve been up
for
hours—all day—on the other side
of
this churning Atlantic
before
the locust moon, the scorpion
afternoon,
before your first
sweat
and your last shiver
I’ve
beat them all with this white
tea
on this plank of wood
before
this veined view of twin mounts
I’ve
beat my death, even yours
no
blood in the mouth
no
stone under tongue
no
lock on my thigh
no, no why to your sigh.
