HISPANIA ULTERIOR

1
Is not to follow an antiquated poetic device,
Rather alike naught but untold vice?
Musty old books, collecting lice?
Counting not once nor twice but thrice!

2
Howe'er here be collected thoughts,
Regal'd to you, feel not so distraught!
That if amusement here be sought,
A hardback version need not be bought!

3
One more thing shouldst I have to say,
Then from dear old Britannia shall I be on my way,
That in jest these words of mine,
Have releas'd me from an untold crime.

4
That little of Hispanic life be known,
Naught but cliché, falsely shown,
So I now venture -set the record straight,
To tell of diverse lands, seemeth my fate!

Italica

5
Out from the south Al-Andalus' flame,
A bitter reproach despite the rules of the game,
Moments left waiting, the time be at hand,
Regret thee not the pilgrimage made from thy land.

6
Of Baetica I canst tell thee not,
'Tis here the vine be easily got,
In an immodest climate unfold the days,
Given o'er to ease and riotous ways.

7
Hadrian's homeland, from here he came,
Sleepy Italica on a rustic plain,
Where down to the pit didst the brave descend,
Where of Leo and Pisces animosity didst amend.
Hispalis

8
The Alcázar, much written of thee hast been,
A quiet shady spot below the green,
Didst those afternoons then there pass,
The weeping wail of a guitar 'till last.

9
An unremitting den of vice,
Where ashes pile up further than lice,
Triana's suburb the friendliest place to be,
Many an adventure there follow'd he.

10
Smok'd into an odorously convex'd space,
Glass and litter left all o'er the place,
Where didst then grind beneath the wheels,
Despite carts and horses’ noble appeals.

11
There Calle Betis then was found,
That for which Hispalis is well renown'd,
The fast track'd beat, a popular sound,
Of clapping hands, feet stomping the ground!

12
Bones, like a crust, map the minutes,
Fingers fit through thy painful limits,
The nylon string'd heart pluck'd terribly,
Given up none to a gracious melody.

13
A rose shalt thou not now refuse,
Nor an effacious effrontery abuse,
Saturn's flow lost unto Duende,
Those laments oft' give rise a las lagrimas del gente.

14
The dancing girls swing their way,
On you their eyes curl and play,
A dangerous game that is unavoidable,
The procession moves on, the pace past applaudable!
15
Down below now! A deceitful corner,
Las cañas shalt flow -no need now to order,
Set there to ecstasy, a passing glee,
The spinning tops turn as though free!

16
... And polka dotted dresses whiz in a blur,
Were it not there other? -But rather her?
Not only in memory, you saw that smile,
The chase grows swift, now keep up your guile!

17
Almenecer! The sweet night follow'd within,
Oh! If only thou hadst come -not in sin!
Our passion's meaning -with or without,
Seek shells from the tide, lengthen life by a shout!

18
Unto thee they shall replenish and give,
What thou hast waited -a chance! -to live!
We'd do the same, here be so certain,
When the show doth go on as thou behind curtains!

19
Of days so short, 'tis known there be many,
To do as thou shalt, or else earn every moment a penny,
And leave freewill to thought untam'd,
Mind thee not to take too long -energy drain'd!

20
Further out! Oh! We've been up to the heights!
Howe'er deep thoughts lead to naught but fights,
Think thy fine thoughts, shalt I not begrudge,
But in action history knows how long thou hast trudg'd!

21
Y de noche! When in Britannia ready to depart,
Fine times we doth know, that nothing here starts,
'Till the twilight hour, none the earlier dost go,
In Hispalis' streets the party rarely doth slow!
22
"Las Calles quickly fill'd,
E'erywhere drinks spilt,
Sing aloud and kiss,
'Till hovering o'er an abyss!"

23
Of people they doth come and go,
By foot all night long on show,
How could it be that nobody here hurries?
Rather laugh and joke, leave aside thy worries!

24
'Twas conquer'd once, The Golden Tower,
Though e'en to this day retaineth thee in power,
An intense feeling of joy's sweltering heat,
That burns away ill will, leaving a clean sheet.

25
... And bath'd thee well there thou hast done,
From the bridge in view, jump'd from sight gone,
Down within those dark depths below,
Swim for thy life! Or thy end thou dost sow!

26
Rio Guadalquivir! Through thy flowing tides!
Life ebb'd on, yet left time to bide,
The Sultan's mistress gave him pride,
Inevitable ‘twas not, she'd stay by his side.

27
Down plung'd they into that hard press'd stream,
And take of life where the sun didst not gleam,
A haughty drop it didst but seem,
One by one to realise what life doth mean!

28
The Golden Tower, agen in thy sight,
The murky depths didst cleanse the night,
Of a pale complexion 'twas but a blight,
A horrid shambles who knew naught of right!
29
Once more immers'd beneath the water line,
Find release from how harsh the sun didst shine,
Constant struggle dost rest thee not nor recline,
But the depths be not yours nor mine.

Granada

30
Oh justice what wanteth ye of me?
You lead us on, 'though to a tyranny,
Oh freedom, where art thou now? Today?
Far from respect for mankind -you lead us astray!

31
Be careful lest thy freedom cost thee an eye,
And to good company bid thee then goodbye,
Across the dusty Sierra went he with a sigh,
Oh Granada! Thy valley! Thy Gypsies' solemn cry!

32
And ye, oh modest man, think thee not,
That amongst them thy homeland couldst be forgot,
Ring out across Sacromonte's tierra classical strings,
An aching heart to he didst they bring!

33
'Twas here that those primitive hounds wouldst howl,
And follow their masters, but to strangers growl,
Underground liv'd they in a place unknown,
With a haphazard melody seem'd they entomb'd.

34
And across the valley -aye, the other side,
How high rose the Alambra! Didst aught but hide,
Through thick green glades stood thee out,
Enchanted palace! Boabdil! Lament and shout!

35
A wondrous place of that no doubt,
But where are they who brought it about?
Cast out like lepers, intolerance sent 'em,
From thinking fine thoughts 'twas a prevention.
36
Oh Hispania! What wouldst thou do in thy Golden Age?
But feed the rabble crumbs? History turn'd a page,
Free flowing waters Al-Andalus had preserv'd,
What the Inquisition set to burn undeserv'd!

Cartago Nova

37
The border unobserv'd Saguntum didst moan,
To a people still free, not yet subject to the throne,
Thee then from which Hannibal thought,
To lay the land low -terror he brought!

38
Cartago Nova! Howe'er thee be call'd
Matters not so much as in war ye enthrall'd,
Sent empires clashing, prov'd to rule... Who was fit?
By the sword fell'd many, hard as grit!

39
There didst the Phoenicians bide their time,
'Till Republican Rome forc'd 'em into line,
On the verge of collapse! So close didst they come!
What other world was then come undone?

40
Cartago Nova now still remains a port,
Of ample width, from abroad things brought,
A defensive miracle where many a time,
Couldst reprieve those long past their prime!

41
The first that signal'd the distance, a lighthouse,
Then many an hour upon thee wouldst pounce,
An ambush so sudden not e'en expected,
The lifeblood adrenaline -once more was injected!

42
Finding fault 'tis such an easy thing to do,
One goes where one will, matters not me nor you,
Rather follow that far sighted and elusive,
Route through the trees like a rough reclusive.
43
"When lacking a reason why,
Didst there doth hear thy cry,
A bitter wail besides,
'Twas enough to make me sigh."

44
That instead 'twouldst perhaps be better,
To leave none here clad in fetters,
Or didst think he preferable at least,
We be supposedly more than beasts.

45
Yet a beast to needs must be,
Though lives naught 'cept insecurity,
A sorry timid sniveling mammal,
Without regularity beneath an anvil!

46
That all the world wouldst consent to follow,
A system many a time proven to be hollow,
E'en that which shown better in jest,
Many bitter times like all the rest.

47
Those that had been before, howe'er,
Thrown out they deserv'd none the better,
Once work'd out to exhaustion,
This rotten ridged feudal abortion!

48
Ne'er question thee! Broken down!
Back to thy device! Like under a crown!
Out to the streets en mass! Here the sound!
That e'erybody knows! Shouldst smash and pound!

49
On throughout went he,
To many a place there didst see,
And on those majestic trails,
Dawn'd to realize sorrow's perils.
50
Set out from one, onward to another,
All locations seem'd alike or akin to brothers,
And in that sorry state didst encourage he,
To set apart his woes that matter'd as little as glee.

51
The thought thereupon, didst no longer give a damn!
That all meant but little more than a sham!
Democritus had it down, live we in disaster,
When all human conduct produceth naught but laughter!

52
That appear'd we unto he, a motley little lot,
Following not our passions, rather copied from others got,
That laugh'd himself into a riot, couldst not be forgot,
Humanity's ills absurd, reason matter'd not!

53
And 'though life 'twas certainly a blessing,
Close at hand nature's timid undressing,
To think perversely alike as he,
Of man a fine perspective didst see.

54
"Atoms carefree! Caught!
Little effect they brought,
From Zeno he plageriz'd,
On antiquity's quint paradigms."

55
'Till many an epoch eventually had past,
Proof that our futile ways shouldst last,
They brought about still evidence more,
In mutual annihilation he long ago saw!

56
Cataclysm comes -of that be there no doubt!
In the meantime politicians, feel no need to shout!
Delaying tactics aside -bring 'em about!
Final impact felt, former strength reduc'd by rout!
57
And out of this abyss! What findest we?
A world clad unto meaning? Canst thou not see?
Explain thyself now! 'tis not the time,
To hide in rhyming riddles, feigning the sublime!

58
Search not about for conclusive answers,
Let ne cold nor heat give cancers,
'Twas thy query that troubles me so,
Indifference doth lead the preoccupied in tow!

59
And once attain'd that alike unto nature,
Art thou less or more a creature?
Untam'd admitted -in chaos reining,
At one with thyself, deceit from blaming!

Castile

60
Aye, what solemn paths hath thou trod?
Doth make little difference to thy Gods!
Hispania Ulterior here be it call'd,
A land where many an atrocity hast apall'd!

61
A varied lot be they whom hath liv'd,
Or pass'd through these lands that seem a gift,
That they couldst claim as their own or fought o'er,
A peaceable place be it not! Nor sober!

62
Once Boabdil had to quit these realms,
And back to Africa fled he at the helm,
Of a ship destin'd ne'er agen to see,
From his native land Al-Andalus didst flee he.

63
'Twere quickly forgot, his culture and history,
Castile establish'd a new order of pious ministry,
That which didst not fit its scheme,
Intolerance threw out whate'er different seem'd!
64
'Twas a time of Catholic Kings, oh so righteous!
Isabella of Castile also known as the pious,
To Ferdinand of Aragon she tied the knot,
To wedding bells and marriage vows, war cannons shot!

65
And o'er these lands they tried to rule,
Peoples who thought law naught but cruel,
Who ne'er wouldst follow, but passively observ'd,
What was written, understanding not what it serv'd!

66
In a land as unruly as that which I speak,
With little in options, and e'en they be bleak!
If crime alone be that which obeys,
Set it a new purpose ¡La policia de los Reyes!

67
Many a Spanish monarch hast admitt'd openly,
That their empire wouldst count for little possibly,
If it had not been for those Catholic Kings,
Their time was decisive, chang'd e'erything!

68
Need I but mention? One Cristobal Colón?
'Though it be still debatable -a Catalan son,
Thought mad by many that across the ocean,
The world be not flat -caus'd quite a commotion!

69
A route to Indian spices didst think he,
Be found due west, the direction contrary,
He was sent o'er those waves to prove the theory,
Howe'er in other lands didst eventually grow weary.

70
A whole new continent he didst discover,
On his travels thought he not in America but other,
Remaining convinc'd that to India he'd found his way,
Until his tormentedly confus'd dying days!
71
'Twas in a time of prosperity, call'd a "Golden Age",
When from a monarch's pocket came patronage,
Many a dramatist, prose writer or sage,
How true were their words? Left for others to gage!

72
In with the new! The old cast low!
That buildeth they un mundo nuevo,
See ye not? Then from our lands go!
Africa welcomes infidels, those who say "No!"

73
"Golden Ages" be all similar in type,
Poverty and hunger, in spite of the hype,
Remaineth the same, unchang'd as e'er hath been,
Yet at the king's court all's a sparkle and clean!

74
Hispania Ulterior hath been since always,
A barren land without pastures to graze,
Nor fertile crops, especially since,
The Moor was kick'd out -agriculture! Ceas'd!

75
We hear those fine words of empire,
Impressive they sound, no matter how bad a lier,
New world orders doth they create,
Politicians' words, whether crooked or straight!

76
And e'ery fine language of the world,
Needeth a literature to spread and unfurl,
Lope de Vega didst he narrate,
Of how a king's people could be releas'd from hate!

77
Of Miguel Cervantes knoweth we all,
Who wrote of that knight always enthrall'd in a brawl,
Who pick'd a fight with any man he saw,
But to dignity's honour blam’d the illusion of law!
78
'Tis a tale to which we canst easily relate,
As all be suseptable to a foolish state,
Of mind or matter, 'tis rarely that we've,
Seen the difference b'twix the noumenon and perciev'd!

79
Tirso de Molina 'though the name,
Dost not stand up recognis'd by fame,
Came up with an archetype universally revil'd,
The seducer to whom all brought vicious smiles!

80
To do harm seemeth its own reward,
That a man may be unto himself lord,
And put aside for the moment petty thoughts,
Repercussions! Consequences of thy taunts!

81
Of Don Juan didst he tell his tale,
Whose seductive charms ne'er couldst fail,
Many chose to see not the story's inner moral,
That to hell went he not to rest on his laurels!

82
There Don Juan didst bide his time,
Roasting in Christianity's harsh paradigm,
'Till Zorrilla didst unto him a hand lend,
Made a popular rewrite with a happy end!

83
Ay, the seventeenth century had its thrills,
Of literature poignant or fighting against mills,
Such high points hardly e'er be they achiev'd,
Yet from repression common people be rarely reliev'd!

Madrid

84
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.
85
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.

86
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.

87
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!

88
'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!

89
'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!

90
'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!

91
'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!
92
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!

93
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!

94
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!

95
'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.

96
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.

97
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.

98
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!

99
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.

100
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!

101
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!

102
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!

103
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!

104
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?

105
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!

106
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!
Toledo

107
Toledo! Precious light of Hispania's cities!
Where many a destiny denied mention thy frailties!
Thou hast seen many a Gothic King,
Of the Vandal, Moor and Christian thy murals still sing!

108
Thou art the jewel of Hispania Ulterior,
And Madrid 'twas built only to protect thy grandure,
Islam didst repent that fatal day,
When Christians took thy walls and came to stay!

109
E'en unto these days of late,
Toledo canst be enter’d by the eastern gate,
And crossing the river, in the early morn',
O'er bridges protected by swords now undrawn.

110
And enter thee through Moorish arches,
Rise up those steps like a conquistador who charges,
Led on by an impatient need to sack,
And fill thy desolate soul's immodest lack!

111
The first encounter high above the steps,
Be the Alcázar's military enclave, yet,
A sight of power projecteth thee,
That struts to uphold petty tyranny!

112
'Twas here that General Franco made his claim,
To absolute power, war was his game,
The Alcázar's "relief" from Republican rule,
Term'd howe'er "liberation" from communist barracks' gruel!

113
Of Cathedrals Hispania dost boast a few,
And fine white wall'd Synagogues, left by the Jew,
When Catholic Kings forc'd him from his land,
Religious tolerance being too much to stand!
114
Toledo 'tis a citadel doubly defended,
The river runs 'round it and pretended,
To preserve its pristine magnificence,
From descent into the outer world's decadence.

115
Here seemeth a world in time presev'd,
Cut off from many a century undeserv'd,
To be but a ghost town a relic of past glory,
Where soothsayers tell of old, but ne'er new stories!

116
Hereabouts didst live Domenikos Theotokopoulos,
"The Greek" he was call'd by those at a true loss,
As to pronunciation of a name so long,
By their admitted ignorance of the Grecian tongue.

117
Domenikos was a son of the Island of Crete,
Yet to Italia's Renaissance he made swift retreat,
And at Venice by Titian's acute guidance,
Found he was gifted for artistic license.

118
Despite the church's ubiquitous influence on,
Themes fit for painters, in those days far from gone,
Domenikos found his own unique vision,
Breathing new life into old subject matter with precision.

119
'Twas with the Spanish clergy, he found his way,
Or rather lost it -depending who hath his say,
Found himself then from that day residing,
Within Toledo's walls, in seclusion not hiding.

120
He had a certain way of capturing a subject's soul,
Or essence in oils that embody'd the whole,
Which brought about a far reaching harmonic sense,
A stylistic innovation, emotionally intense!
121
"El Intierro del conde Orgaz" he paints,
Many a Spanish nobleman together with Saints,
That money couldst not prove eternity too long,
Yet by a brushstroke amendeth thy enmity wrong!

122
And unto such images of Christ he gave birth,
Yet set strangely amongst Spanish knights of worth,
Pious servants seemeth they of our Lord!
Far from mere brutes! With an excuse for the sword!

123
'Tis through here that many a pauper hath pass'd,
Looking to make a fortune or some bread crumbs last,
Not to mention one Lazarillo de Tormes, he of late,
Who didst get himself into many a fine scrape!

124
Led he a life describ'd only as picturesque,
By no fault of his own became quite a villain, nay,
Playing his tricks on both the 'haves' and 'have nots',
Doing aught to fill his belly by roguish plots!

125
E'en the proud be reduc'd to desperate measures,
Prey upon others who doth not appreciate pleasures!
'Tis easy to walk on by, say "the system's to blame",
What will it cost? To release humanity from foul shame?

126
Yet to others dignity still be a thing too strong,
Wouldst they rather starve to death, lingering long,
A drawn out end perhaps 'tis prefer'd by some,
To asking for alms, begging, take pity on our young!

127
Howe'er poverty remaineth so whilst isolated on corners,
On thy knees thou doth find few amongst thy mourners,
Until that day, strength stands in its own way,
Find release from dependance! Vile creatures of clay!
128
Traverse thee by any of today's remote back alleys,
There shalt thou find many a Lazarillo's ally,
Organiz'd crime leadeth tourist trades array,
E'en the desolate crave dignity! Who's to pay?

129
Lead thyself far from humanity's dark ills,
Think he cur’d? Who taketh too many pills?
Oh how hard! Life seemeth as if liv'd on trial!
Remaineth clean! Don't sink in that stink and bile!

130
Think thee curs'd for not having play'd their game?
They made up the rules to keep thee but tame!
Don't you see? That which really shouldst matter?
'Tis squander'd daily! In pursuit of useless tatter!

131
So endeth here at last, the first part of my song,
Howe'er from these lands my heart hast not yet gone,
Shouldst I to live out here the remainder of my days,
Perhaps, perchance view'd in desolate ways!

132
Maybe shalt thou see, my will be further bent,
To regale thee more and not repent,
That shouldst thou to me, lend an ear,
Many ano'er amusing history shalt thou hear!

133
For thy valuable time, I thank thee now,
Spent here recounting I know not how,
And hope seem'd it not a terrible waste,
Now, back to the land of Samsara! Make thee haste!