Great Poetry Circle

Great Poetry Circle

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Selection of Great Poetry and some from Tommy Stroller - choose your category - and see my other sites -
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Talking with Lorca

TS Political PoetryPosted by Graham Thompson Tue, May 01, 2018 20:37:38

I was not yet in life

When they came for you at 4 in the morning

That dreaming hour when

All poets dredge their muddied minds

For pearls, or the lucky ones

Sing non-stop like an Orpheus

Newly risen from hell’s earth

Or the dreadful ones – like you -

who can see clearly their own death

They came for you at 4 in the morning

Those young raw and drunken falangists

Barely out of their shorts

And who knows where educated?

Extremadura, Burgos, and dry Murcia perhaps

And educated how?

Certainly not in the poems of Machado

Nor with Picasso’s perspective

Of the tour de face

Yes they came at exactly 4 in the morning

Bearing ancient rusty rifles

Which had travelled much further

Then any of those feckless clueless young innocents -

Perhaps from Galicia, Morocco or Pamplona -

And certainly those barrels had been trained

On Catalans, Basques, Asturians

Before reaching Lorca’s firing line

They say it was an orange grove

Before the fruit had been picked

But it was way past the harvest

So they lay rotting and fermenting

On the ground where Lorca

And his nameless companions too

Would soon be providing food

For a million flies

An army

Not big enough to swallow his spirit

But enough to quarry his sap

Yes the bullets took them when their only crime

Was to be socialists and Andalusian

So Lorca never leapt

Like a slippery dolphin

In the fight with his cowardly enemies

Nor bathed in their blood

Instead - they were bathed in his

And though to the end

He still thirsted for the Green

And his eyes flickered

To those fading Green visions

The wind caressed his spirit

Inside the Green

Before he could taste it

Before he could smell it

Before he could feel it

Before he could sail in it

Before he could love it

In the arms of the woman

Who was never to be the next

The wind carried his spirit to us

That little wind that in-spired us

And all who bathed in the GREEN

In all who made Lorca

Not their destination

But a true way-station

With a candle inside becoming carol

On that final path to green glory

And on that toros poster

Crossed by Lorca's words:

"And the bull alone with high heart

At five in the afternoon"



And today your body still lies lost

Pitched under a giant stone

Or under those holy olive branches

Waving now to no-one.


Lorca! Your cause

Was not in war

Nor was it in vain:

Though prematurely dead

Your spirit pitches up today

Not only in this 70 year old

Desiccated fruit:

The young are freed

By your poetry they

Follow on your path

And bear your truth

And the shots still ring in their ears



Tommy Stroller, Spring 2018