hispania citerior

8/8/2019 Hispania Citerior.

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HISPANIA CITERIOREmpries

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By the waves where tempests brew,Ano'er life long ago had been slew,The salty dew whence other times knew,A favour'd one led all but a few.2Along the far reaching coastline sail'd,Didst thou not find an artful gale,The storms didst rise so forcefully yet,To Neptune didst thee pay little thy debt!3Finding fault in all the land,Where Greeks had trail'd on through the sand,Nor wouldst thou hath been safe in the city,Of eternal Rome if not for Dido's frail pity.4The Emprdian valley a glint from the sea,

Wandering first comers, they were to be,Settl'd in that place, a colony so distant,The land of Hispania, nam'd on from that instant.

5On through the gates 'though they be hardly,Of Scion size yet still of grandure perhaps partly,Columns were lined half ruin'd or reclin'dCast back to the mists whose times refuse to decide.

6Asklepios! Whether 'tis thee truly,In thy moment of dearest need -left so unruly,Couldst thou not have work'd thy wonders?Upon one who neer seem'd to hath gone under?7Up towards the Agora's wide open space,

Where bartering once held sway -'twas the place,Many a merchant man found his reward,Left only in final days, with needs must to hoard.


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8'Twas told once in those of antique time,Thereabouts a port didst rise above the brine,Which rival'd e'en thee Gades in thy decline,

The adopted son didst think "Iberia! Now thou art mine!"Tarraco

9Further on through now to lands of old,Pagans founded there once or pitifully sold,Stones laid out which still canst speak,Of grander times now sank below their peak.10Arrival 'twas had not long after dawn,The city where before Hispania was born,Passing on thereabouts in the opposite direction,Where Scipio once went to quell insurrection.11Tarraco howe'er before naught 'cept a town,Hast grown thee well, 'twere outward bound,

Via Augusta settl'd thee not thy plain limits,The boundary -The Ebro, respected not e'en for minutes!12Of Hispania Citerior here endeth thee,An impatient stroll toward the coast impell'd he,Through Tarraco's deserted streets 'twas told,A new dawning day begins to unfold.

13The sun riseth e'er so high above,Mare Nostrum, ye whose sight I do love,Underneath which the gushing waves,Desire ne'er to leave but rather save.14A theatre by thy sands, a near distant vista,A pleasant pile endearingly greets her,

Stone blocks of old Antigone's abode,Where tears didst then soak and corrode!


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15Unto this enchanting spell bound place,Where Sophocles didst write for a worthy race,And the condicin humana e'er precisely,Captur'd herein, but endeth none too nicely.

Valencia

16The wayward path leads on into the south,Blistering days did aught but quench the mouth,Taken up thy roaming route yet agen,To distant towns and valleys far from fame.17Arriv'd thou didst where Valencia grac'd,And fire burnt slowly -ne'er in haste,When figures of sizable repute carefully built,All in a day reduc'd to ashes and spilt!18Las Fallas' flames were quickly fan'd,E'er upwards those fumes fit the demand!For riotous mayhem prancing all about town,

Not 'till day's dawn couldst thee rest thy head down!19The revelers frolick'd on into the twilight,Set to query naught, each moment a highlight,An unpredictable pace of song and dance,Whence e'erything seem'd not destin'd but chance!20

And when finally at last, from moonlight departed,A weary state into sleep thee then darted,A place of shelters, couldst thee find not,Rather below The Palace of Science, accept now thy lot!21Across those waters appear'd unto he,A shadow so luminous, in a daze he saw thee,That sparkl'd before him in the new found light,

We worry for reason lest ye fall far from sight!


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22A guardian thou then seemest to he,Howe'er protecting from ignorance, the extremity,The Palace of Science rose like a vision,But thy entrance 'twas barr'd! As if but a prison!

23Moving further afield! Awaken thee! Now!Rejuvenated senses impel thee how!An exctatic eruption his soul didst let out!Wandering ways! High spirits! Once agen let shout!

Vich

24A new way of life 'twas ready to dawn,And arriv'd he in Vich one fateful morn',On a plain where many think of naught but gain,Where e'en the priest poet Verdaguer was driven insane!25The descent 'twas steep yet not easily apparent,Entrance to Vich Castell ne'er did happen,Try 'though thou didst -all but in vain!

The dwellers thereabouts gave o'er naught but pain.26Speaketh we not like those of thy kind,Against Castile who wanteth only to bind,Like the vile oppressors hast thou now found,That unto them shalt we ne'er be bound!27

That brute! Castile! Aristocratic effeteness!Lacketh thee common sense, thy former greatness!'Tis from thee now long deceas'd,Hardly wouldst thy sloth and privilege release!28Who carries the burden of thy infamous fame?El burro Catal -work'd hard until lame,They releas'd a pestilence across our land,

Submit to the crown -whilst ye can!


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29La fet differential 'though first amongst merits,Causeth untold blindness, deaf dost but say it,Addictions obsessive to things material,Canst thou perceiveth aught more espiritual?

30Of classical austerity know not they,A land of butifara and a bail of hay,An obstinate resistance doth there hark,La Lengua del Imperio not here heard bark'd!31Conflicted interests heed thee be!What matter thy contrasts that ye doth see?That from up close seem so immense?Mutual respect! Ne here nor there! Feelings intense!32A history long drawn out, ne'er forgot,That to the rote, acceptest not thy lot!A culture once scorn'd is alike to a lady,Who craves rather revenge, sooth not the malady!

33To be fore'er ne "for" nor "against",And see beyond where wouldst others put up a fence,'Tis not such a task so easily done,So from that scorch'd earth he found himself gone...34Yet didst remain there some dear to his heart,Who soften'd the bitter torment -that necessity of art,

While he regal'd himself of the days there spent,To a nostalgic sentiment he didst passively relent.35Many more an emotion travers'd his soul,And without those few who help'd him towards his goal,Wouldst he not hath been perhaps better?To have given more? Focus'd? On to the letter?


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36Such as the night gave o'er to you,And thy Valencian friend aught to do,The e'ening pass'd swiftly, rauxous in zest,Many a consumption sank down on behest!

37There that night didst they meet,An Andalusian girl in a backstreet,Who led 'em forth, all were in earnest,To a pack'd out place in the midst of a furnace!38There the heat of the summer noon tide,Didst but inflame those passions inside,And there by the side, stood by a cage,A dark featur'd Hembra sent his heart into rage!39Someone to fill out the void of the nights,While upon the dawn disinterest 'twas felt for the fight,Enlanc'd one unto the other, pass'd the twilight,Made all the more blissful and of solitude slight.

40There 'twas but ano'er who twisted his heart,And play'd to his measure, understood rarely thou art,A playful girl of shambolic renown,The two pass'd their time, drunken -that's how!41Further into the mists of the town,A place so enclos'd as to leave ye unbound,

That there couldst thou follow a life led with ease,And chase after the mantra, "Do as ye please!"42Taken on through a night full of revelry,Fallen back broken down destructively,Out and about wouldst I wish thee to be!Not mine but your own! Virtually free!


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43Onward bound to the soft spark of day,The rains wouldst pour down in their own way,Not down from the sky in an e'en descent,Rather cascading from rooftops -heaven be spent!

44Up out of the ground, gushing unused,The town became so much more than abus'd,Aught not to come about these realms, a monsoon!Rather leave off thy waters! From hell! Thee doth croon!45On his doorstep maltreated -The Temple of Zeus,Fitfully broken, impious abuse!Out of its context put to any a use,No wonder Olympus' father sends rains so obtuse!46The end of an era you signal'd us near,What sayeth thee Athena? Who lead me here?The Gods canst not show us their thanks,'Tis through we they speak, rather in angst!

47For what dost thou wait? Onward! Proceed!Believeth thee that thy feet doth bleed?The moment 'tis ripe, let young fruit be pluck'd!'Lest it fall unwanted, down to the ground be shook!

Costa Brava

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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!49High 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.


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50A 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.

51In 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!52'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!53Whate'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!

54There 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.55There 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.56Much 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!


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57Unsteadily 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!

58Sat 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!59A 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!60There 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!

61Venturing 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.62A 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!63And 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!


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64That 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!

65As 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!66There "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!67Out 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!

68Once 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!69Back 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?70That 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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Barcino

71Perhaps 'tis said the place you belong,Which seemeth hardest of all to make song,

For a long time staid he, feeling at home,With little of torments, nor time being alone.72Life in the former colony of Barcino,Pass'd swiftly perhaps little incognito,With diversion aplenty, a stumbling mess,Knowest thee still how to stop short of excess?73Howe'er once time had grown cold therein,Too many adventures began to stunt him,From a period of calm ne'er shouldst thou feel harm'd,But content to recharge batteries, recklessly burnt!74And for those of ye all who speaketh the tongue,Of Castilian glories, unequal'd and long,Here in Barcino, where Rome worthily gave birth,

Slowly but surely the latin divers'd.75Here we doth have a society multilingual,The polyglot hereabouts hath a habit to mingle,In all manner of issues, not all be his own,Each to their own business -here 'tis not known!76

Although on the surface order dost rein,The Eixample's fine set square seems to feign,Yet lookest thee closer! Attempt passage on thy feet,The noise is a racket hardly anywhere beat!77E'en here in what's thought the north of the south,Govern'd and disgrac'd, law but a big mouth!That spews it's wrath on a fickle people,

Who'd perhaps prefer to be led by Gaul's grand steeple.


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78Oh Jaime I 'Twas you! Once was the day!When Barcino couldst follow through her own way,To conquer and pillage -yet honourably!Those Balearic Islands fell to thy sway!

79Oh Castile! Was it then you?Who knew but little? Yet tried to prove?That these here provinces, Augustus divided,Shouldst be unto you then united?80What meaneth now these words of old?The latin preserv'd stories repeatedly told,Hispania Ulterior, rich were thy mines,Yet thy sons hath not develop'd tolerance of mind!81What couldst they mean these words here imparted?Are Catalans like Poles in a land still uncharted?Hispania Citerior wouldst thou agree?Thy latin 'twas vulgar! Not of the clergy!

82Herein to avoid certain names,That such and such a country be not the same,Provinces and regions, autonomy by degrees,E'er waiting by whom next to be seiz'd!83A beauteous land 'twas set to bleed,The trauma intense, canst thou not be freed?

Thy wounds were deep, still blood doth seep,Yet looketh unto thy own mettle, rather than weep!84Thy traditions of old, Catalonia told,Of pacts and deals and workers guilds bold,Where The Counsel of the Hundred once existed,E'en our Britannia's Doomsday book 'twas predated.


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85Yet why unto thee Britannia? Do others still look?For a helping hand, when other nations liberty you took?Or a gesture of friendship, when you turn'd a blind eye?To those who had suffer'd, thy promise but a lie!

86The Straits of Gibraltar, a sore point to any Spaniard,Where once Heracles' Pillars had set the standard,A foreign traveller was he also dutiously on a mission?Yet he left an example, rather than demanding submission!87And of that Balearic Island, I remember not which of thee,'Tis why a lazy historian makes recourse to poesy!Didst Britannia bequeath thee back unto Hispania?With other motives hidden, aye que vergonya!Ilerda

88And here I admit to expose my game,'Lest my poem fall short of its aim,Many a phrase so politically charg'd,

Iberia! By Romans, you were brutally barg'd!

89There it came to pass, once where,The peninsula of Ilerda didst bear,The clash of iron, steel didst they possess,Iberia's flower 'twas to the toga redress'd!90

A man of fame, of he be there no need to mention,Who saw through many a deed, realiz'd his intention,And in his own words, as he related,Crush'd Pompey's sons, through necessity not hatred.91As Gaius was he known to but a few,An Uncle to one whose future there grew,To epic proportions by dint of adoption,

And left the whole world with little in options!


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92As Julius was he known to many more still,In his life they all were bent to his will,'Cept those who chose otherwise to oppose,By the knife and their own hand, at the forum impos'd!

93As Caesar was he known to all who came after,Marty'd? Butcher'd? Slain justly? Disaster?Who canst know of what other world thought he?A republic collapsing or on the brink of glory?94Well, 'twas here in Ilerda, to get back to our theme,'Lest we lose ourselves in a pathetic historical dream!That Caesar didst come conquering as he himself said,Now in his footsteps others follow, modestly led.95By a native lad possess'd of a jolly temper,Far from Caesar's dark forebodings, eadem semper,Which is but to say that all be the same,Believe it if ye will 'though 'tis a philosophy tame!

96The present vista seen there in that morning bright,An air crisp to breath, inhale it as thou might,And across el campo didst they there treck,Where campesinos work, 'lest livelihoods come to wreck.97"A tierra rich in soil,Which giveth of Hispanic oil,

Out where agricolas toil,Below a harsh sun they'd boil".98Make the most of thy immodest gains,Be lucky enough! Take profit in vain,A land of plenty, naught to waste be left,Yet whom needeth most -denounc'd of theft!


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99Ilerda be situated there on a hill,Below which runs a river where it will,And e'er ye doth find the ciutat's crooked lanes,To the summit the Iglesia, dost count off thy pains!

100A people of tradition, all married therein,Of Christ's noble sacrifice, believeth they still,Oh Rome! Hadst thou not built roads so straight!Couldst beggars hath brought, ne love nor hate!The Pyrenees

101Howe'er remaineth the future, erratically I doth write,To have recounted already, what's still far from sight!'Twas close by here to the Pyrenees they'd go,To the north Hispania Citerior hath much still to show!102And makest thee of day's time merrily,Find flight to haven's distant Pyrenees,That seemeth not far for a recluse,

Times hour spent, pensive in use.103Now seen all that further afield wouldst,Dwell upon valleys of wilderness where couldst,Savest thou thy hour in need,Longingly ne'er happen'd -Take heed!104

Thy climes stem from a higher accent,'Though care not for thyself 'lest thee prevent,An uncharm'd vigilance that from which,Set thyself up for a hard life of bliss.105Canst thou speaketh of the hour?Which hast been taken oft' but sour?What blackness follows our path?

E'er upwards, onwards -surpass!


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106'Till stumbling wayward and confus'd,'Though direct 'twas ne'er thought bemus'd,On to a still silent yet hostile abode,Find rest none far quickly, further from home!

107That nightly presence seeming so still,Fleetingly hast thou drank thy fill!To make little of torrents remaining unknown,That into daylight 'twouldst be waitingly shown!108Mists of the unseen coming decadence,Shed thy unfitfully false presence,Slowly creeping, falling far foul,Of those who'd possess thee, unlucky art thou!109Daylight! Cast thy hour! Play on!See the game, but where hast thou gone?A fitting phrase to be still unawaken'd!Unawares thou seem'd sadly mistaken!

110First beam of light ne'er 'twas so,Appreciated as now, I implore thee go,Candescent perhaps thy eyes open'd be,The force of full senses ought ne'er be seen!111Yet cast in its aspect, a morning unbroken,Untam'd horses of which thou couldst hath spoken,

The salt of the earth feedeth thee,But from the bell hast thou not yet been freed!Barcino

112From mountain peaks back to the Catalan capital,'Twas but an excursion, be there little more to tell,A pretty little diversion, 'tis a habit of mine,

To drift from my theme from time to time.


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113Here amongst galleries and bars canst be seen,Plenty of life liv'd by whom to the left dost lean,Once before I attempted to poesy in Spanish,Yet captur'd not "el sentido" so I'll translate it to English.

114I know as well as most how pitifully frail,Words canst seem whence to o'er languages they trail,Too far from meaning, couldst Arthur hath follow'd the grail?If to romantic Franais those words were not nail'd?115Although try as I might -set to my purpose,A writers in trouble, not bad but the worst!Ne'er a phrase spoken e'er 'twas heard,Anoer pen usd up! Now I've forgotten my words!116Hispania Citerior here words hath little intention,To be seen 'though sparse be their cantacin,'Tis hard to tell who will do what,When waiting for others seemeth now thy lot!

117So back to that rhyme I once tried to write,In the Spanish tongue with which I doth fight,And recount once agen what came to pass,"El verano pasado!" That summer! The last!118'Tis of the summer time I speaketh now,And to nights fleeting passage, I know not how,

That below those sands of the Barceloneta,Toes so smoothly unfetter'd grind one upon o'er!119Somehow between these extremities,Of dirt and beauty's infirmities,Without thy worries of what wouldst soon come,Sweet and slowly, the waves there didst belong.


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120Howe'er like always be the sense of time spent,Bitter to the touch, taste and scent!Which permits thee not live life so long,Rather brief moments set to cheap song!

121There didst he weep and she too,In a wet and sandy embrace, "me & you",The place 'twas a space that couldst not fill,The feelings of emptiness that haunted them still.122They liv'd there once happily in that way,Still 'tis but hard just now to actually say,Of a shambolic girl he once didst know,And for a brief time hand in hand didst they go.123In that epoch of vice and ill repute,Inseparable they seem'd -this point don't dispute,That by those waters of grand force,They liv'd awhile 'till time had led its course.

124Those quickly passing moments canst but show,How little didst thou ne'er bemoan,And onward 'till their paths once agen wouldst cross,Yet beyond the moment! Feelings! Tragically lost!125Sat in the sand, heads back reclin'd,Or walk thee well by the wide streets to find,

Couples hand in hand, lip clasp'd on lip,In each dark corner solitude doth grip!126To follow the beat of thy fast pounding heart,And find there thy bliss a passionate art,That runs yet slowly... delay! Don't depart!'Till from those waters into sorrow you'll dart!


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127Los aguas lack depth yet in them thou art lost,There thy heart thrown away! A terrible cost!Los aguas lack purity yet in them thou art lost,In that filth the heat rises! Unluckily cross'd!

128Although a little conceited, 'tis a funny fine thing,To understand a language without the sting,Of having studied and learnt in parts,Following the grammar from end to start.129Yet the latin spreadeth tongues distinct,So similar words they may still be link'd,And if ye knoweth enough of the Italian,The Spanish comes easily, as doth the Catalan.130Knowing a language be but fine,Yet how to use it? Without crossing the line!Social norms be whate'er they may,Don't translate! Word for word does aught but say!

131To use a language fluently,Forget thy norms else shoddily,Understood perhaps thou shalt be,Albeit unto a simpleton seemest thee!132Here amongst these Mediterranean realms,'Tis easy to find plenty of pearls,

From around The Middle Sea doth they roam,In search of diversion far from home.133Of Castilian ladies I know but little,Loud in speech and rather fickle,By anyone's terms be they fun to play with,Games be fine for a while, take or give!


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134Of Greeks plenty have I already said,An amiable people not easily lead,Astray as others, as seen much hath they,Of life still invoking Venus to play.

135When I sayeth Venus rather Aphrodite I meant,'Tis a habit to Romanize here and there instead,Of using the fully embodied forms,Those voluptuous Greek Goddesses! Far from the norm!136Howe'er we consider the Greek past her prime,The Roman Gods be naught but pale copies or rhymes,With feelings of Pagan rites old in glory,Parnassus, unlike Vesuvius, ne'er vented her fury!137Yet far from the woes of her native land,A Barcelonese lass found aught more grand,And out of wedlock gave o'er to he,A heart and soul bleeding that none other couldst see.

138The Catalan tongue doth sing unto ye songs,Alike to Castilian rights and wrongs,They be fellow lovers of the Middle seas,Where Olde English passions hardly couldst appease!139Grasp'd in an embrace, oh so tight!Maintain thy freedom! Falling far from sight!

A Sunday afternoon following the harmony of night,Rest thee well in amorous laze, a predictable plight!140Extranjeros! Better the two!Foreigners find one another far from blue!Southern passions doth barely contain,Exhaust thy inner feelings 'till naught remains!


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141Romance be a thing pointless to speak of,Knoweth we all of obsessions below and above,In poetry 'tis common I grant thee that,Yet to other devices, oft' crude words be spat!

142To this I shalt not herein resort,Don't be modest now! I hear ye retort!But deny the tragedy its poignant end,And from inner suffering life doth mend!

143Perhaps 'twouldve been better kept to a dialogue smooth,'Lest my public flee all terribly confus'd!Yet first attempts be but trial, ye soon I'll amuse,Of other countries too, whose comforts I abus'd!144Onward I go with my modest Cancin,Yet it seemeth to me rather a bit too long!Fret thee not for 'tis fast approaching its end,Of Hispania I'll tell no more, for words twist and bend!

145Worry ye not these words of mine,But look elsewhere onto aught more sublime,And if it caus'd thee naught but pain,'Twas but in earnest we jokd of gain!146Here hope I 'twas an interesting yawn,That tested not thy patience -thinly drawn!

And if the subject herein tackl'd,Picketh thy taste or loosen aught shackld...147Then seek me out in these distant climes,Be they not that far 'cept in metaphors mine,And hold me not too harshly to account,For odd irregularities which herein dost flout!


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148Dioses mios! Seemeth here written a ton!A long epic didst I not intend to hath spun!Canst thou not end what 'twas once begun?Or leave it unfinish'd! Horribly shunn'd!

hispania citerior

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