Thursday, July 06, 2006

Lorca, she said

Pasadas las zarzamoras,
los juncos y los espinos,
bajo su mata de pelo
hice un hoyo sobre el limo.
Yo me quité la corbata.
Ella se quitó el vestido.
Yo el cinturón con revólver
Ella sus cuatro corpiños.
Ni nardos ni caracolas
tienen el cutis tan fino,
ni los cristales con luna
relumbran con ese brillo.
Sus muslos se me escapaban
como peces sorprendidos,
la mitad llenos de lumbre,
la mitad llenos de frío.
Aquella noche corrí
el mejor de los caminos,
montado en potra de nácar
sin bridas y sin estribos.
No quiero decir, por hombre,
cosas que ella me dijo.
La luz del entendimiento
me hace ser muy comedido.
Sucia de besos y arena,
yo me la lleve del río.
Con el aire se batían las
espadas de los lirios.

Because I promised a respite from the overtly political.

Because I prefer the original. And I am not speaking of language.


Anonymous said...

overtly? I think you mean obliquely

irlandesa said...

The respite was from the "overt." I never promised to refrain from the "oblique". It's just not in my nature.

Spark said...

Oblique, Overt - seeing as I am getting confused again: oh, well, what the hell..

This subversion of Communion is not, overtly at least, political:

It seems the picnic movement is going global..

Ours, as some of you may know is at:
Picnic Warfare

But also, a wider group of revolutionary picnickers can now be found at yahoo: search the groups page for 'Pointless Picnics' and you'll find it. For those that are interested, here's the blurb you'll find there - maybe it'll turn out to be a good network to link with, and the opportunity to start your very own, real&immediate, local outdoor Parlour?:

Venue: A Picnic Spot In Your Local Town, City Or Village.

Time: Sunday Afternoon
Place: Anywhere Picnickable

Pointless Picnics are held every Sunday afternoon, providing the weather is fine. They offer an opportunity to get away from consumerism and wage slavery.
Tell your friends to tell their friends and come along to share your food, thoughts play music and games or just relax.
The picnics are something you don't have to think about, enjoy them, they're fun.
The time has been arranged to avoid the need for organisation. Everyone is welcome and don't forget..... it's just a Global Picnic!

The New Communionism?

Also, for a more overt emphasis on the political, check in here every once in a while: Freedom Charter

Love, Cheers and Solidarite


Anonymous said...

What I was trying to say is that there is nothing overt in that from which you are taking respite. Obviously, the code has meaning for those who possess the algorithm.

fauxtapatio said...

our fair patrona's most oblique prose is far more overt than any anonymous, seemingly confused potshot (as the former is not, in fact, covert).

much like the truth, david duchovny's five o'clock shadow and The Real Slim Sup/Shady, meaning is out there. when and for whom may not always be evident. please enjoy your stay with us mr. anon.

irlandesa said...

Will the Real Slim Shady please stand up...

Perfection, my lovely fauxtapatio.

V said...

It is always interesting when a gay artist projects himself as heterosexual. Salvador Dali, briefly Lorca's lover, called this the worst poem in the entire collection.

For those of us seduced by the illusion, it seems to show up our "oblique" and perhaps "covert" acceptance of machismo. The poem is, in fact, a "male brag" - it paints a word picture of a man relating the tale of the seduction of a married woman to other men - and Lorca himself was not entirely comfortable with it.

As for myself, I love it.

V said...

It's the feminine thighs as startled fish that do it for me.

irlandesa said...

Precisely - the startled fish - rather reminiscent of the "snorting thighs" of more recent vintage.

V said...

I must have missed the "snorting thighs".

Truly, I have never known them to...snort. Slapped a little. But never snorted.

irlandesa said...

I believe that I may have, in the interest of posterity, made a pre-emptive, and thoroughly reprehensible, edit of said adjective.

I do recall moaning [oops]about the term right here in the Parlour.

One of the many points being that it is not only gay men who write horridly off-putting erotica...

V said...

Ah, then I have missed it. On occasion your use of language is what I would describe as "origami" - a continual folding and folding into a complex form. Artfully done and lovely - the language of a "précieuse" - but not always easy (for me, at least) to understand immediately.

If you could redirect me to your "moans" I will read them again with more wisdom.

irlandesa said...

I'm tempted to be coy, not giving away the sleight of hand, but, since I have, in fact, already done so, what the hell.

You can find 'my' moans in a February post, Through a glass], and the 'other' in a similarly dated post in our Library [First Other Winds - Part 2/2].

B said...

Who could forget the morning [oops]moaning thighs?

Truely, thighs have made some strange sounds through the ages...

But what of the other senses?

Anonymous said...

Ah les cuisses! C'est si joli ça! Surtout à Cuba où les femmes roulent les cigars sur leurs cuisses!


If Irl can confuse me with Spanish, I'll retort in French! But I have to admit that the thighs, snorting or moaning, always remind me of Cuba.


V said...

"... the scribbling of amatory prose and the necessary sleight of hand it imposes.
But, most dear Aphrodite, I must come up with some alchemy for bufar."

Yes, I do recall this entry.

But I had forgotten how you had moaned.