Three Sketches for Europa
1 / The Tourist
Now Henry (said his Aunt) take care.
She may not realize who you are.
And if her speech is less than lucid
Try to remember always that in
Her day she spoke, not counting Latin,
Nine languages. Think what she did,
Or meant to do before the war.
Was there anyone like her?
Palermo lay at her feet. Madrid
Trembled, a moonstone from her ear.
Avoid all mention of your Grandfather.
Pour soul, she's peevish now, an invalid,
Has lost her beauty, gets things wrong.
Go now. But do not stay too long.
2 / Geography
The white bull chased her. Others said
All interest vanished. Anyhow, she fled,
Her mantle's flowing border torn
To islands by the Golden Horn,
Knee bared, head high, but soon to set
One salty cheek on water, let
Flesh become grass and high heart stone,
And all her radiant passage known
Lamely as Time by some she dreamt not of.
Who come to pray remain to scoff
At tattered bulls on shut church doors
In black towns numberless as pores,
The god at last indifferent
And she no longer chaste but continent
3 / At the Bullfight
Deep in the gaunt mask arenas blaze.
To creaking music now appear
Champions of her honor, with fixed gaze
And slow parading through a maze
Where the thing waits. Just once in fear
She stiffens, wonders that her people cheer
Pelting down roses and berets.
Then on the mask a smile plays, absent, queer.
In a fringed shawl of blood the bull
Moans and kneels down. His huge eye glazes
On the confusing candor of her gauzes
Who called, who of her own young will
Hung him with garlands, tickled his nostril
And urged him into the foam with gentle phrases.
Created by
guccipiggy
Last modified
2005-03-17 09:04 PM
